


Color Swap

by SureWhyNot9



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Blowjobs, Colorswap AU, Feeding, M/M, Multi, Organ Theft, Original Character Death(s), Pining, Prostitution, Religion, Slave coding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2018-11-23 03:19:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11394291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SureWhyNot9/pseuds/SureWhyNot9
Summary: How about something a little bit different. Swerve and Whirl taking each other's places at the start of their lives. Good hands? Check and check. Wanting to do something other than the job they were initially forged to do? Check and check. Inability to keep muted despite it being in their best interests a lot of the time? Check and double check.Swerve has been a part of one bomb disposal unit or another since he was first forged and placed in his function. After years of loyal work he finally scrapes together enough credits to open his own bar, and it goes great.... until it doesn't.





	1. One

Swerve raised his glass to the dim light of the bar, a salute to those who hadn’t made it that far. Three casualties wasn’t the worst end result ever for a mission he’d been attached to, but it wasn’t anything to celebrate. When his drinking buddies lowered theirs, though, he left his up. The glass didn’t sparkle in the low light, it was barely clean enough to let the light through, much less cast it about in artful spatters. The blue liquid inside it seemed to glow, though, and Swerve took a moment to analyze its color.

He almost sloshed the drink when someone elbowed him in the shoulder. “Are you gonna drink that or not?” It was a large mech whose name Swerve hadn’t caught yet. Scrimshaw had brought him, so he probably worked with the negotiations unit and that explained why Swerve only vaguely recognized him despite them being a few decades into their tour.

Swerve pulled the glass to his chest defensively and took a noisy slurp. The balance of magnesium was off, and it left a gritty coat on his glossa but the kick from the engex was powerful enough that he wasn’t about to complain. Yet. At least not until he was properly sloshed. “I’m drinkin’ it, see?”

“You shouldn’t have brought it up.” Flak leaned across Swerve to better stage-whisper to the mech on his other side, one a large forearm propped on Swerve’s hood, pressing him down into his seat. “You just gave him an excuse to harp on the drinks here for the next four hours.”

“Well I wasn’t _gonna_ —yet—but if you insist…” Swerve trailed off as the table filled with groans, hiding his grin behind the rim of his glass. “Don’t worry, I’m buildin’ up a blacklog of scrap to complain about so I’ve got some variety to choose from, y’all’ve got another three drinks before I get into it.”

“Thank Primus for that!”

“Hey! You know the rules, no using the p-word while we’re trying to drink to forget.” Triptich punctuated the reminder by throwing back the rest of his mostly full drink and slamming the glass to the table.

Flak picked a piece of debris out of Swerve’s tire treads and flicked it across the table at him. “It doesn’t count if it’s cursing or cole—colekwee—” he huffed a sigh. “The fuck is that word?”

“Colloquialisms?” Scrimshaw offered. Swerve barely heard her from the other side of the new guy’s massive chest.

" _Ugh_. Six syllables is too many.” Flak leaned the rest of his weight on Swerve, making his hood creak.

Downburst scoffed, raising their helm off the table for the first time since they’d sat down. “Flak, you’re not even drunk yet. Are you really gonna start complaining about words already?”

“It’s better than complaining about getting put at a smaller table.” There was a pause. The other five mechs at the table all glanced at Swerve, who purposely took a long swig of his drink so the couldn’t see his reaction. “Sorry, Swerve.” Flak offered, a little awkwardly.

Swerve shrugged as much as he could with Flak’s weight holding him down. “It could be worse. He’s not _dead_ or anything, just out of commission for a while.”

“Yeah, but he lost his _arms_.” Downburst pointed out. There was a heaviness around that reminder that had nothing to do with a mech three times his size using Swerve as an armrest.

“Jumpcut’s a good disposal unit, it’s not worth the trouble to get someone new trained in and ship them all the way out here, especially since we’ve only been off planet for thirty-two years and we’re already moving locations. They’d have to know where we were headed and send someone out to meet us and that’s a whole big thing on its own.” Swerve did his best to sound self-assured, but his compatriots looked skeptical enough that he wasn’t sure he succeeded. “He’ll be _fine_ . Even if they can’t build hands as adept as the ones he was forged with—which, by the way, that’s bullshit, right? If they’ve started machining whole mechs from scratch they can totally build a pair of hands that’s good enough to not get him blown up that bad a second time.” There was a murmur of agreement from around the table, except from Triptich, who frowned. Swerve pushed on. “But even if they can’t build him hands that are _as good_ , he’s got all the experience and knowhow ready to roll, they’ll at least keep him around to teach the next round of bomb techs.”

“You know you’re disposable, right?” Triptich pointed out. Downburst reached over and punched his arm.

“Gee thanks, Trip. Tell me how you _really_ feel.” Swerve rolled his optics and took a long drink, trying to wash away the acrid taste the term left in his mouth. It being technically true didn’t help any.

Triptich shot Downburst an annoyed look. “It’s nothing personal, but you _are!_ ” He smacked Downburst’s hand away when they tried to hit him again. “And so’s Jumpcut. If he’s not out of medical by morning they’re gonna mark it as a loss and break him down for parts. It’s what they’re gonna do with all of us eventually, when we get too hurt to still serve our function.” He pushed his empty glass between his hands, clearly wishing he hadn’t downed his drink so quickly.

He started to say something else but Flak sighed sighed so noisily the sound drowned him out. “Way to kill the mood, Trip.”

Triptich snorted and half turned to wave down the server. “There was a mood?”

“Yeah, the mood of good-natured complaining, which you’ve killed dead by making things _too real_.”

“I could complain about the drinks if you’d rather listen to that.” Swerve offered.

Downburst rubbed their faceplate. “Honestly? Yes.” Triptich groaned. “Shut up, it’s your fault everything’s all serious and scrap now!”

“I’m not the one who brought up Jumpcut!”

“No, but you’re the one who brought up the fact that we’re all gonna _die_.” Downburst shot back.

“What, you think we’re gonna live forever?” Triptich asked mockingly, his attempts to flag down another drink forgotten.

Downburst straightened up so they weren’t half-collapsed on the table anymore. “Don’t talk to me like that, jackoff, you know what I meant!”

“Oh so you don’t like my _tone_ now.”

Flak groaned, quietly enough that only Swerve and the new guy could hear him. “If they get us kicked out before I manage to get fendered I’m kicking _both_ their afts into next Tuesday.”

“You’d better get started then.” Swerve raised his own glass and Flak clinked his against it before presumably chugging the whole thing in one go.

His—now empty—glass settled onto the table in front of Swerve and the weight lifted off Swerve’s hood. “I’m getting another drink, save my chair.”

“Will do!”

The new guy nudged Swerve’s shoulder. “Are they always like this?” He asked, pointing across the table at Downburst and Triptich, who were now so far in each other’s personal space they might as well have been trying to combine.

Swerve shook his helm. “Nah, just when a mission doesn’t go according to plan. Which is…yeah, actually ‘always’ is pretty much true.”

“But I thought—” he hesitated and Swerve took another drink to occupy his mouth and keep himself from interrupting. “They told us the mission was successful? We got trade relations set up with the planet’s main colony.”

“Yeah, the _mission_ was successful, but people still died.” Swerve shrugged. “It happens. It _sucks_ , but it happens.” He stared hard at the inch of liquid still in the bottom of his glass, torn between drinking the rest of it now and not wanting to get up and go through the trouble of getting someone’s attention so he could get a new one. “What’s your poison?”

The new guy startled, drawing back like he was afraid Swerve might actually do something to him. With their size difference it was downright comical. “What?”

Swerve laughed. “I’m not gonna poison you, that’s not what that means.” He reached over and tapped the base of the thick-walled mug planted in front of the mech. “Whatcha drinkin’?”

“Oh! It’s uh…a ‘Beached Whale’.”

“That so? I wouldn’t’ve known, the color’s way off.”

“Really?” The mech brought the mug up to his face to look at it more closely. “How can you tell?”

“Well first off, it’s supposed to be purplish.” The new guy frowned at his distinctly rust-colored drink. “Maybe a little pink if they’re using a better kind’a high grade, but there’s no way they’d bother with the good stuff way out here. A place like this gets maybe a few hundred Cybertronian customers a year, it’s not worth it to keep the good stuff on hand. Not that they couldn’t _do_ it, but what’s the point of takin’ up good storage space with somethin’ they’re not gonna make a profit on? Mechs just passin’ through aren’t gonna be able to afford some high-class label, they’re either gonna be merchants or jerks like us.”

“High-class…?”

“Engex with a better purity level.” He said matter-of-factly. He’d read up about the Cybertronian standards after getting in an argument with a bartender in Helex over the rough burn of engex the mech had _claimed_ to be Iacon-distilled but was clearly some kind of homebrew. The download for that pamphlet sat comfortably among Swerve’s other ‘materials research’. Hundreds of possible additive and engex and flavoring combinations disguised as looking into the explosive and flammable qualities of different elements. “The higher the distillation the smoother the burn and the better it mixes with other additives.” He continued sagely. “It holds flavors better an’ doesn’t have as strong an aftertaste.”

There was an exasperated sigh from the other side of the mech next to him. “I can’t believe you got him started on this.”

Swerve stood up on the seat of his chair to lean on the table, peering around the new guy so he could at least somewhat see Scrimshaw. “Hey, he asked!”

Swerve couldn't see Scrimshaw rolling her optics, but he could practically feel it coming off her. An aura of annoyance. “Fine, it’s better than listening to _that_.” She didn’t have to gesture across the table to indicate what she was talking about.

Swerve sat back down in his seat with a thunk. “Right! So, what’s it taste like?”

“What?”

“The drink. It’s definitely not a Beached Whale, so I’m wonderin’ what it _is_.”

The new guy took a cautious sip—probably more wary now that Swerve had called the legitimacy of his drink into question—and his nasal ridge scrunched up. “ _Strong_.”

“Wow, usually they underpour when they think they can get away with it.” Swerve waved a hand to encourage him to continue. “What else? Sweet, bitter, sour…? What’s it taste like?”

The mech shook his helm. “Why do you care?”

“He wants to be a bartender.” Scrimshaw said snidely.

“Shut up! A good drink’s important, an’ a _bad_ drink can wreck someone’s whole night.” Swerve swirled his own engex, blue waves sloshing up the short sides of the glass without reaching the rim. “A bar’s a good place to be, y’know? If I had one back on Cybertron there’d people an’ engex an’ most of the time they’re full’a mechs who’re happy livin’ instead of just happy to be alive.” He glanced across the table to where Triptich and Downburst were barely holding back from starting an all-out brawl. It was surprisingly comforting to see them barking at each other. The noise wasn’t loud enough to drown out the whine of their weapons systems, so the fact that Swerve couldn’t hear that meant they were mostly yelling for the comfort it provided. “I want to make a place like that. Plus I know I can make a drink that’s better’n _that_ dross.”

“Huh.” The mech took another swig and his expression shifted back to distaste. “Yeah, I’m not gonna argue that point. This is _not good._ ” He set the mug back on the table. “What are you drinking?”

Swerve saluted him with his glass. “Blue Bombshell. It’s a good way to test how accurate a bartender’s pours are.” He shrugged and sipped it, savoring the last few mouthfuls. “This one’s magnesium heavy.”

The mech gave the bright blue liquid a considering look. “What’s it taste like?”

Swerve grinned up at him and tapped the ‘bomb disposal’ identifier on his own forearm, stark white against the deep, scuffed up blue. “ _Irony_.”

* * *

“Come _on_ , Swerve!” The blue jet leaned over the bar and waved his empty glass in Swerve’s direction. “One more round!”

“You can have another round when you pay your tab!” Swerve called back from the other end of the bar. “It’s a four drink max and you know it!”

There was a smattering of laughter, drowning out the jet’s complaints. Swerve grinned. The bar was loud and warm with the rumble of dozens of engines. The armored stills behind the bar counter shone in the gold fluorescent light and it wasn’t yet late enough in the evening for mechs to forget where they were and posturing and boasting to turn into brawls. It was _perfect_.

“Swerve!”

Swerve would’ve recognized the voice even if it hadn’t come with a hearty slap on the back. He stumbled forward before whirling around and smacking the hand away from him. “Flak! You fragger, what’re you doin’ here? The contingent left two years ago, didn’t it?”

Flak shrugged, his grin bright but lopsided. He was missing the all the dentae on the left side of his mouth and his left optic was dimmer than his right. “I didn’t make the cut this time around, I’m a little too fragged up to make a good lookout anymore.”

“What happened?” He motioned for Flak to sit. “Grab a stool, fill me in. I haven’t seen you since—”

“Since you quit the bomb squad, I know.”

Someone else hollered across the bar, impatient with Swerve’s lack of attention. “Hey, barkeep!”

Swerve called back over his shoulder. “Keep your platin’ on, I’m comin’!” He turned back to Flak. “Can I get you somethin’? You’ve never had a chance to try a drink I mixed before. Not one that wasn’t made with engex we brewed in the barracks.”

Flak shook his helm. “I can’t stay, I’ve got a meeting with the functionaries in a couple hours.” He rapped his knuckles against the counter. “I’ll be back around once I’ve got my feet back under me. I don’t want to stiff you on the tab.”

Swerve beamed. “There’s a mech after my own spark. You’ll keep in touch, right? I didn’t even know you were planetside.”

“I’ll do my damnedest.” Flak smacked Swerve’s hood again, a friendly pat misjudged and almost hard enough to dent a less well-armored mech. “Take care of yourself, Swerve.”

“You too.”

More calls for his attention distracted Swerve for a moment and he didn’t see Flak leave, just lost him in the crowd of patrons. He felt a wave of unease sweep through him. Flak was a good mech and a great pointmech, but he’d never wanted to do anything other than his assigned function. What would the functionary committee do with a mech like that?

Talking his way into an engex license had been hard enough. He’d applied fourteen times before someone to approved his request for a function change. After that it took _months_ of constant hounding on his part to convince someone to give him a chance to take the necessary tests and he’d spent every cent he’d ever saved to buy the right equipment and make the down payment on the bar itself. He’d barely made ends meet for the first few months, but _now…_ well, he’d gotten some unsavory attention for his success but he wasn’t a pushover. He couldn’t afford to pay some shadowy mob for protection even if he wanted to—he didn’t care for the idea of his own bar being used as leverage against him—but he could hold his own against a little outside pressure.

Swerve took a few seconds to let it wash over him. The light and the noise and the sound of mechs being somewhere they wanted to be. The sharp, somehow thick smell of twice-distilled engex.

Something shattered on the other end of the bar and there was a swell of laughter and shouting as three different mechs tried to blame each other for the broken glass. Swerve sighed, his spark light, and headed over. “One of you fraggers is payin' for that!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter title was almost 'Ignition (Remix)'


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse. And then a little better.

“Frag you.”

The curse was garbled enough that Swerve only put the syllables together based on _years_ of practice. He rolled his optics and hiked the other minibot’s arms further over his shoulders. “Yeah, yeah, frag me. Frag you too, buddy.”

He ducked between two burned out buildings, their facades the only part of their structures still standing. Peeking around corners and darting from place to place was something he’d never thought he’d get used to doing on his own planet, but it felt almost normal now.

“This is great. This is just _perfect._ ” The muttering didn’t make it much farther than his lips but the soft chatter helped calm his nerves. “Middle of the night an’ I can’t even buckle down in my favorite hiding spot without some fragger fallin’ all over an’ practically bleedin’ out on me. What’d you even do to end up like this?” He knew the possible answers to that question. Drug deal gone bad, caught underpede in a brawl between mechs above their size class, beaten for money or fuel they probably didn’t have… Hell, the guy might’ve fallen off a building while blitzed.

The mech coughed and Swerve felt something wet splatter his hood. He didn’t know whether it was intravenous energon or coolant or if he’d just been thrown up on, and it didn’t really matter. They mumbled something slurred and their field grated against Swerve’s, harsh and ragged with pain. “H-harvest—” the cut off with another hacking cough.

“Organ harvesters?” He felt the mech nod, a sharp scraping against his hood that smeared the spattered fluid. “ _Slag._ ” Swerve paused and checked behind them again. Not that seeing the organ harvester’s goons coming up behind them would help him outrun them. He couldn’t transform and keep a hold of his passenger and the mech slung over his back wasn’t in any state to cling to his hood while he drove. “Well, here’s hopin’ you lost ‘em before you found me.”

A pitiful whine was the only response he got.

“Slag. That’d better be a ‘yeah, mech, we’re in the clear’ because I don’t know about you but I’m not gonna win any fights right now.” Swerve peered around the next corner before he kept moving forward. “Unless you’re packin’ some illegal ordinance in there somewhere I think we’re fragged if we run into ‘em. They’d probably take that too though, right? Bein’ organ harvesters an’ all. I guess you could hide a gun in subspace…” He trailed off, holding as still as he could and letting a small group of buymechs wander past before continuing. Mechs like those weren’t likely to hurt either of them, but you never knew for sure. Swerve’s travelling buddy was bleeding pretty heavily and people in the Dead End were always hungry.

It was seven miles from Swerve’s favorite hiding spot to the next-to-nearest clinic, the only place that provided shelter and fuel to anyone who needed it. Or so Swerve had heard. But that couldn’t be right, nothing was ever _free_.

It was a risk dragging a stranger all that way, Swerve was burning fuel and wasn’t going to get anything out of it except warm feelings, but the closest clinic was five miles in the opposite direction and all the direct paths there ran across the area of Rodion the police force actually bothered to patrol. The cops liked to stop mechs for ‘suspicious behavior’ and if Swerve got caught hauling someone half dead through their turf he’d be held up long enough that the mystery mini wouldn’t survive the delay. All that was left to do was get to the clinic and hope there was someone _there_.

Swerve wasn’t expecting an answer when he banged on the heavy, rusted door. He certainly wasn’t expecting the roughly painted cross to be replaced by a concerned face something like twenty feet above him. The mech who opened the door was _tall_ , but not _big_ like all the mechs Swerve had worked with before he switched careers. Before Swerve could order his thoughts any further the mech’s concern morphed to alarm and he stepped aside. “Come in! What happened to them?”

“Organ harvesters.” Swerve stepped inside, not wanting to hesitate and get the door slammed in his face. “That’s what they said, anyway. Sorta. It was more like interpretive gargling.”

The mech—a medic, obviously, white and red plating practically glowing under the weak overhead lights—waved him into a room without a door that wasn’t quite visible from the main entrance. He gestured to an empty medical slab in the middle of the room. “Set them up here?”

Swerve was about to protest that he couldn’t reach when he spotted a small set of stairs leading up to the top of the table. Perfect for accommodating minibots. “Sure.” He climbed the steps and laid the other mini out on the slab. Their optics were dark and their frame completely slack, but under the smeared energon stains their plating still retained its color. “You can help ‘em, right?”

“I’ll certainly try.” The medic swept back over, a transfusion back in one hand and an array of tool on a tray in the other. Swerve climbed back down the stairs to get out of the way. “Friend of yours?”

“No. Never seen the guy before.”

They nodded. “Can I ask how you found them?”

“I didn’t. They stumbled over me while I was rechargin’.” Swerve shrugged. “Not really sure how they managed that seein’ as I was _inside_ a wall, but there you go.”

The medic didn’t waste any time in wiping away the energon and cracking open the minibot’s chestplates. Swerve hanging around didn’t seem to bother them. “What’s your name?”

“What?” Since when did anyone bother—? No, don’t bother reading into it. Swerve was hovering and the medic probably wanted a name to give to the police in case the other mini died and had to get reported. He considered lying for a moment, but what would be the point? “Swerve.” After half a second of hesitation he amended the single-word statement. “Swerve of Helex.” It seemed almost necessary to excuse his out of place accent. “What’s yours?”

“Whirl of Polyhex.” Whirl glanced up just long enough to give him a smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

The split second smile was enough to knock Swerve off balance and he _stared_ at Whirl long after his attention turned back to the patient Swerve had delivered to him. It was long enough that Whirl was elbow-deep in the other mini’s chassis before Swerve realized he hadn’t said another word. He shook himself off, wiping at the now partially-dried energon clinging to the part of his hood he could reach. Intervenous, it was obvious to his fingers. Strangely, having someone’s life fluid coughed all over him was less gross than being purged on. He could feel the rest of it drying to a tacky film down his back but there wasn’t anything he could do about that.

“Oh, I got some medgrade for you—it’s stashed right over there.” Swerve followed Whirl’s gesture to a row of cabinets on the wall closest to the door. “You’re welcome to snag a couple cubes if you like.”

“Really?” Whirl nodded, his attention already back to the mech half-dying under his hands. Over his hands. He had both of them shoved into the poor mech’s torso, so Swerve wasn’t sure what the right saying was. “Thanks. That’s not even a little suspicious.” His muttered sarcasm went unnoticed—or at least unacknowledged—and he walked over to the rows of cabinets. None of the doors were locked, not even with latches that would keep blitzed mechs from being able to fumble their way inside and steal important equipment.

Swerve opened the first one closest to the door on the bottom level, one of three he could reach without climbing on top of something. Sure enough, there were rows of clean, neatly arranged energon cubes stacked inside. The cupboard itself was lined with some flimsy, yellowish padding. He picked one up and held it up to the light, narrowing his optics to better focus through the container. He tilted it, inspecting the color and the way the liquid moved.

“The color’s off.” The words leaving his vocoder barely registered as he continued his analysis. Everything he could do without opening the cube outright. “It’s dull an’ all the additive’s’ve fallen outta solution. The energon’s thick but that’s because it’s mostly floaters, plus you’ve got distinct layering in the energon itself. The cubes’ve obviously been exposed to a major change in temperature between when they were processed an’ packaged an’ _another_ since then, the additives are all stratified out an’ startin’ to clump up an’ the iron’s all crystallized on the bottom of the cube.” He huffed, bringing the cube back down to his chest to look down into it. It was still good quality energon, full of things a healing frame needed, but it would be so much harder for his fuel system to process after years of scraping by on low grade. Plus it would taste disgusting, if not outright poisonous because of all the unincorporated solids. “It’s a _waste_.” He lamented to himself.

“Sorry to say I don’t have the funds to climate control the whole clinic. I had to pick a room and it had to be the bitties.” Swerve almost jumped. He hadn’t thought Whirl would bother listening in on his rambling. He glanced at Whirl but the medic wasn’t looking up as he talked. “So the cold snap last night must’ve done it.”

Bitties. Bitlets. Whirl had _sparklings_ here? _Why?_ It was so much more dangerous here than anywhere else he could’ve chosen to keep any sparklings he found abandoned in the local dumpsters. Swerve shook his helm, wrestling his thoughts back into line. “You don’t have to climate control a whole room to keep energon cubes in the right temperature range, You just hafta insulate them against sudden fluctuations.”

“That so? What insulation would you recommend, then?”

“Urethane foam is the best but it’s overpriced no matter where you get it, if you double up on polystyrene instead you get eighty-seven percent of the same result.”

“So if I can find the polystyrene foam do I have to insulate each cube or just the cupboard?” Whirl sounded distracted. Obviously. He was still in the middle of surgery, it was a wonder he was bothering to listen to Swerve at all.

Swerve shrugged, picking at the seal on the cube in his hands. It was meant for a full-sized mech, which meant it would get him to sixty percent if he managed to chug the whole thing and keep it down, but with the state it was in that wasn’t a guarantee. His fuel system tended to overreact to the suggestion that someone was trying to poison him, even when there was no real danger to what he was consuming. “Depends on how often you open the cupboard.”

“Well, we get break-ins about every night. That’s why the insulation isn’t keeping as it is—I put up a sign asking for mechs to shut it after they take their fill but a lot of them aren’t able to read it and since they don’t return the cubes it’s too big a cost sink to individually insulate them.” Whirl hummed. Something snapped loudly inside the minibot’s frame but he seemed unfazed. “Maybe I should just put a bell on the door so I can wake up to close it when they’ve gone…”

“If you put a bell on the door they’re gonna think you don’t want ‘em takin’ the fuel at all. Like it’s some kinda alarm system so you can catch who’s been stealin’ from you.” Swerve glanced into the cupboard. Maybe Whirl could afford to feed anyone who stole from him, but someone who didn’t know any better could get sick from drinking this energon as it was. “Puttin’ insulation between each layer of cubes goin’ back from the door would keep those farther back from bein’ affected by the door bein’ left open.”

Whirl’s voice brightened. “Hey, that’s a good idea. Just foam sheets?”

“Yeah, so long as they’re fitted to the space.” Sealing them in would regulate the temperature better, but it’d make removing them to get at the next layer of cubes a huge hassle. Not worth it in the long run.

“That’s why I haven’t done it yet. But then like you said, a cold night leaves the cubes all nasty. I try to keep the stock fresh anyhow, but…” He trailed off as he leaned in, elbow-deep in his patient’s internals to work out a problem. There was a soft clunk as Whirl screwed something important into place and let go of it. A soft, regular thunking floated into the air as the minibot’s fuel system started back up. “Oof. Your friend here had a close call. If you need an airlift next time, you’re welcome to comm me.”

“Not my friend.” Swerve corrected automatically. “But I can carry ‘em, it’s no trouble. If I’m ever runnin’ low on time like that again I’ll take you up on that. You’re really gonna give me your number?”

“Huh? Yeah, it’s on the cube.”

Swerve tilted the cube back and forth again, turning it over in his hands until he found a label slapped on the underside of it. It looked vaguely like graffiti, scratchings most mechs would overlook if they weren’t desperate and hungry and looking for _signs_ . It said ‘for a good time call’ and had a comm number scratched out beneath the words, but the glyph for ‘good’ was smudged _just so_ … the blotch read ‘good for you’ if you took it at face value. “...huh. You’ve made a terrible mistake. I’m gonna comm you at all hours just to talk your audials off.”

“You’ll get a busy signal if I’m in surgery at the hoity toity hospital. They track my comms while I’m there. The rest of the time I’m gonna be on and off. Happy to talk but patient comms take priority, y’know?”

Swerve frowned over at him. “I was joking. You’ve obviously got better things to do.”

“Text comms preferred unless you can’t read.” Whirl continued, clearly distracted by the repairs he was engrossed in. “The bitties cry if I start talking to mechs what they can’t see.” Swerve stared at him. That couldn’t be a real offer. It made no _sense._  Whirl didn’t look up to see his confusion. “Sorry the fuel isn’t in good shape. Is it still potable? I can’t use my transfusion stock for casual refueling but I don’t want you to go hungry.”

Most bafflingly, Whirl sounded _worried_. Like he was _actually concerned_ about whether or not some punk he’d never seen before in his life starved to death. “Yeah.” It was, even if it wasn’t great. “Yeah, it’s still good.” He swirled the liquid in the cube again, contemplating its pinkish depths. “...d’you have a burner I could use?”

“Fourth cabinet to the right, under a couple miscellaneous bits of scrap.”

“Thanks.” Of course he didn’t ask what for. This mech was clearly too trusting by half. Swerve shut the cabinet on the energon store and walked over to the one Whirl had indicated. Buried in the back—where at the very least no one was going to find it by accident and set the clinic ablaze—was a fairly new cone burner with an unattached but clearly compatible gas canister sitting next to it. Swerve pulled both out and closed the cabinet doors before moving to the far corner of the room and settling down on the floor. He was less likely to set something on fire by accident or get himself stepped on if he was out of the way. He got the burner lit on the first try.

“What are you doing over there?” A perfectly reasonable question, finally.

“Makin’ this into somethin’ that’ll go down a little smoother.” He pulled his last set of still functional but mostly worn through insulated gloves out of subspace and held the cube over the heating element. It would get hot way before he could let go, but he wasn’t about to keep bothering Whirl for help while he was busy saving a mech’s life. “I promise I’m not gonna start any fires.”

“Is it tough to do? Could you manage that for the other cubes? So long as you’re not spiking it with circuit boosters.”

“Eh.” It was a long, painstaking process with more steps than most mechs would bother with because of all the different elements medical grade was made of. “Sorta? It takes a while but that’s because the solution’s got so many components it’s gone tempermental. If I could do multiple cubes at once it wouldn’t take any longer per batch than doin’ one at a time, I’d just have to keep a closer watch on all of ‘em.” He’d managed to ignite a cube to explode four times over the course of his life cycle, and all but one instance could be directly blamed on getting distracted during the heating process.

Of course, each of those times he and his co-conspirators had been trying to make bootleg medical grade in their shared quarters. Distilling your own highgrade from rations was pretty common practice, but when Swerve started researching further into the more complicated process of putting metals and minerals back _into_ energon, well. His bunkmates thought it merited experimentation, and he’d gone along with it every time.

Speaking of distraction. Swerve came back to the present just in time to turn the heating element down, keeping the energon from bubbling over and breaking the seal on the cube. The liquid inside was already a purer pink. “If you want me to do all of them I can. I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

Whirl hummed. He seemed to be thinking, though Swerve didn’t know if it was about Swerve’s offer or the odd clicking noise the other minibot’’s frame had suddenly started making. Swerve resisted the instinct to duck and run. Whirl twisted something sharply and the clicking stopped. “You know anywhere to pick up that insulation you mentioned I’d need?”

“I got mine from a mech named Restock. He does shady business but push comes to shove he’s a good mech.” He’d done business with a function-jumper like Swerve without asking too many questions. “He can hook you up.”

“How much would it run to get the amount I’d need to do this right?”

“Depends on the space. He runs it twice the average price but if you can pay him up front he’ll drop it down to 20 credits per square yard at a four inch thickness.” Swerve took the cube off the direct heat and started swirling it to re-incorporate the flecks of metal.

“You up for taking a job?”

He paused, stopping the gentle stirring of the cube in his hand for just a second to look over at Whirl. Not long enough for the iron to fall out of solution again, but long enough to see that Whirl was wiping his patient down and closing them up, still not paying Swerve enough attention to really be thinking this through. Right? He was just saying things to occupy the air between them. “...Sure. What kinda job?”

“Fix up my energon stash so it isn’t quite so likely to get nasty. Maybe fix the gross cubes if you can. I’ll bankroll it and pay you, of course. And you’re welcome to drink up while you’re working. Frag, if you like you can crash here while you’re at it. Your call though.”

That had to be a trap. It _had_ to be, but—Swerve desperately wanted to believe Whirl meant what he was offering. And the worst thing that could come of it was him fixing a storage problem for free “Sounds like a sweet deal. I’ll take you up on the job, but i’ve got a place to stay.” Sort of, but the hole the other minibot had found him in was prime real estate, relatively speaking. “I don’t wanna lose it by not goin’ back for too long.”

“A lot of mechs feel that way. It’s cool. The place doesn’t ever fully lock up if you change your mind.”

“I can definitely help you out with your storage and stock problems though.” Swerve set the cube on the cool metal floor. It needed to return to room temperature before he could heat it up again to incorporate the copper.

Whirl looked up and fixed Swerve with another dazzling smile. “Just let me know how many credits you need to get this off the ground.”

For a brief moment, Swerve contemplated lying.

Whirl clearly wasn’t unintelligent—he was a _medic_ after all—but he was way too trusting. Swerve could ask for an absurd amount of credits, do a slipshod job on the insulation, and pocket what was left. Whirl could call the cops on him but no one would care because he would deserve to be robbed, trusting guttertrash like Swerve with his money. But there were so few good mechs in the world, and most medics who came to the Dead End didn’t last more than a few months before it got to be too much and they retreated back to the hospitals that could actually pay them. Swerve didn’t want to be the reason someone who was giving away free fuel left sooner than they had to.

He nodded, cutting the burner off and standing to do a more thorough inspection of Whirl’s storage space. “Sure. I can do that.”


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get better. Also, Swerve is accidentally good with kids.

Restock was skeptical when Swerve went to him for insulation. To be fair, the last time they’d seen each other Restock was leaning over Swerve’s newly polished bar counter and joking that he should’ve charged him full price for the foam, and a lot had happened since then. Once Swerve assured him that he wasn’t opening another failed venture—which had stung to say and the ensuing almost-argument nearly blew the whole deal—and that he could pay up front in cash, Restock relented and set up the deliveries for him.

Swerve had to pick up the materials in loads small enough to fit in his alt mode without drawing attention. It took four days to get all the insulation to Whirl’s clinic, taking the time between randomly spaced trips to get started on the installation and make sure the cabinets he was going to be lining were constructed well enough to support the additional weight. He wasn’t trained in construction, but you had to learn how things were put together when you needed to be able to take them apart at a moment’s notice.

Anything could be a bomb. Knowing _how_ things were going to blow up in your face was the tricky part.

Whirl stopped in to check on him every time he came through. Which was smart, on his part. Swerve was in and out so much he could’ve easily been stealing medical equipment or supplies without being noticed.

He knew it was possible because he caught one of Whirl’s patients—a dingy yellow and green two-wheeler with burn marks from circuit boosters all over his arms and legs—shoving fistfuls of empty code syringes into their subspace. They froze when Swerve walked in on them, and their optics locked across the room.

Swerve slowly adjusted his grip on the hammer clutched in his hand. “So…”

The mech’s optics darted between Swerve and the empty doorframe above his helm, weighing the risks involved in barging past him. He was short, but wide enough that he mostly blocked the doorway, and with the hammer he was _technically_ armed though still not much of a visible threat. They licked their lips, slowly setting the handful of syringes back in the drawer they’d been rifling through. “If I walk out now…?”

Swerve nodded just as slowly and took half a step back, not quite clearing a path for them but suggesting that he’d be willing to. “That’s probably a good choice, buddy. The boss might not mind you stealin’ from ‘im, but I’m not so much a fan. It’s poor manners, y’know?”

“Right. Right.”

It was an awkward dance getting the mech out the door without either of them taking their optics off the other. Swerve checked the drawer after they disappeared around the corner and noted it was half empty, but without knowing what had been in it before he couldn’t be sure how much was gone.

Whirl didn’t seem to care that he’d been robbed though. When he frowned deeply—his beautiful features arranged in an expression of utmost concern—it was because Swerve told him what the mech had taken. “Syringes?”

“Yeah. His arms were all chewed up too, he probably thought they were loaded up with boosters but you wouldn’t leave that kinda scrap lyin’ around where anyone could get to it, right?” He didn’t seem that irresponsible.

Whirl’s aghast reaction confirmed that no, he knew better than that. “Of course not!”

Swerve nodded. “You might wanna hide the empty data shots better anyway. You’ve gotta have somewhere more secure where you stash the important stuff. Just—” He waved his hands in what he hoped was a casual dismissive gesture. “Don’t tell me where it is.”

Whirl nodded. He looked...way too pleased for someone who’d just gotten robbed. “Thank you, Swerve.”

Something hot and fluttery that he was _way_ too underfueled to deal with bloomed in Swerve’s spark. He mumbled something that might’ve been ‘you’re welcome’ and hurried to get back to work.

Loud, distressed wailing interrupted him another time, his painstaking work on a particularly stubborn—or maybe he was just tired—cube of medgrade was almost undone when he startled. His hands remained steady from practice and nothing else. It took a few seconds to identify the noise as a sparkling crying.

With Whirl off at his _real_ job, rubbing stabilizers with the upper class and fixing kinked wires, there was no one to interrupt the sparkling’s crying. To offer them comfort. It was probably the norm, honestly, Whirl couldn’t be around all the time, and if he left them on their own that was his choice to make. He was the medic, he should know best.

Swerve still set the cube carefully on a counter out of the way and stashed the burner where it wouldn’t be found by just anyone who wandered by. He crept through the clinic, back further than he’d gone before, peering into rooms as he passed them. A few mechs were recharging like the dead in berths in one room, but no one seemed perturbed by the noise. It was obvious when he came to the right room because the noise smacked him in the face as soon as he opened the door.

The sparkling was one of the few Swerve had seen darting around the clinic in the shadows. Their plating was white and yellow, both colors dingy with hunger, and their optics were offline as they howled to the ceiling. The other bitlets were apparently hiding from them, crowded on the far side of the room, tiny hands pressed tightly over their audials and more than a few mouths wibbly with unshed tears. Two others were crying as well but their tiny sobs were drowned out.

Swerve stepped inside, feeling wide optics watching his every move as he closed the door behind himself and approached the sparkling. “Hey.” His voice barely carried but the wailing cut off with a sharp hiccup and the bitlet whipped around to stare at him. Swerve hesitated, fixed to the spot, and optical fluid started welling up in their optics again. “Hey there.” He kept his voice even and soft as he walked toward them. “Heyyyyy buddy. What’s wrong?”

His question was met with more sniffles. The bitlet scrubbed a fist under their optics and whimpered.

“Are you hungry?” Wait, that was a bad question. Everyone was hungry all the time down here, as evidence by the bitlet’s sullen nod. “What’s up little guy?”

More sniffles. The sparkling didn’t object to him getting closer, though, or try to shy away. Swerve knelt down next to them. It didn’t _look_ like anything was wrong with them, but there must’ve been a reason they started up crying.

Swerve very carefully touched their arm. “Are you hurt?” A weak nod. “Where’re you hurtin’?” They put a hand to their middle and whimpered again.

Scrap. That looked like more than just the pain of an empty tank.

Swerve sat down on the floor and the sparkling immediately crawled up his folded legs and into his lap. He froze while they got settled and then gingerly folded his arms around them. “You’re lucky I don’t have any sharp edges little guy, not everyone’s as boxy an’ dull as I am.”

They snuggled up to him, their arms wrapped tightly around their belly. He muted himself, wondering if they were about to go to sleep, but when he’d managed almost a minute of silence they started sniffling again.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how to help you.” Which was _terrifying_. How was he supposed to _not hurt them_ when he didn’t even know what was wrong? [[Whirl, I know you’re at work an’ you’re not gonna get this for a while but one’a the bitlets was cryin’ an’ I don’t know what to do? They’re in my lap an’ all’s quiet now, but comm me back ASAP.]] He cycled a ventilation. “Okay. I commed Whirl. He’s the medic, he oughtta know what to do.”

A small sound from across the room caught his attention, and he looked up to see the other sparklings carefully crawling toward him.

He rolled his optics. “Yeah, alright, get over here. Big ol’ snuggle pile. Why not.” He didn’t say anything when the small frames found his and climbed up to rest against his arms and legs. “What are you even supposed to be doin’? What do sparklings do? _I_ don’t know, I was never a sparkling. I was a protoform for exactly twelve seconds and then I was a grownup. That’s totally what happened. Definitely how protoforms work. I probably shouldn’t be lying to sparklings. Whose bright idea was it to leave me with access to impressionable young minds?”

Swerve slowly became aware of tiny motors buzzing away against his frame as the bitlets dropped off into recharge one by one.

“Wow okay, rude.” He kept his voice as even and calm as he could. “Sleepin’ while I’m talkin’. Honestly that’s par for the course. What can I even talk about to mechs who’re as small as you? All I’ve got is technobabble an’ race stats. I don’t think Whirl would take too kindly to me sharin’ stories from the bomb squad, those’re either borin’ or they end with someone in pieces. Not exactly prime storytellin’ material.” The bitlet in his lap squirmed and sniffled again, this time more of a sleepy, snuffling noise. “I guess that’d be better’n nothin’.”

He was getting into describing in detail Blurr’s second Ibex Cup win—he’d only heard about it secondhand and watched a recording of the race itself, but it was still impressive—when he got a comm back from Whirl. [[Are the bitlets still crying?]]

[[Nah, they’re all conked out. The yellow an’ white one was actin’ like his tanks hurt before, though. Cried loud enough that I came lookin’.]]

[[I’ll be there in twenty kliks, can you keep them calm for that much longer?]]

Covered as he was, Swerve couldn’t move an inch without risking waking up all the sparklings using him as a pillow. [[I’m not goin’ anywhere.]]

It was hard to describe Whirl’s expression when he met Swerve in the nursery that evening. Partly because Swerve was facing away from the door and didn’t get to see his initial reaction, and partly because it was like nothing Swerve had ever seen before. It wasn’t even _blank_ , he just...couldn’t decipher what Whirl was thinking based on his face.

Then Whirl smiled and the weird, warm feeling in Swerve’s spark was back.

“Thank you.” Whirl’s voice was barely more than a whisper.

“I didn’t realize I volunteered as a living berth.” Swerve replied, his voice the same even volume that he’d been maintaining for the past hour. “I might hafta charge you for hazard pay.”

Whirl beamed and leaned down to scoop a few of the bitlets off of him. “I’ll see what I can do.”

It turned out the sparklings _had_ been hungry. They needed to refuel in small amounts, but much more frequently since their tiny tanks only held so much. As a minibot, Swerve could relate. He could also relate to the fact that the yellow and white sparkling that claimed his lap had tried eating a stray hunk of scrap they’d found on the ground to sate their aching tank. Whirl had removed it without much trouble later that evening, but it was still scary how close to hurting themself the bitlet had come without supervision.

After that, Swerve made sure to look in on the nursery whenever Whirl wasn’t around. Just in case.

At the end of the week Swerve checked all the latches on the storage doors to make sure they’d _stay_ closed unless someone opened them, triple-checked the fit of the insulation for leakage at the seams, and closed the cabinet doors. He could sneak out while Whirl was off checking on the sparklings, but it seemed wrong, somehow. To disappear without saying anything.

He hesitated to imply he was leaving around the sparklings—even though it was true—so instead he hovered in the hall outside the nursery and waited for Whirl to emerge.

That smile when Whirl spotted him still made his spark flip.

“The storage is done.” He blurted out as soon as Whirl closed the door behind him.

Whirl looked surprised. Then thrilled. “That’s great! Show me?”

“Right, sure, of course.” Swerve led Whirl back through the clinic and struck a dramatic pose pointing at the newly insulated cabinets. “Tadaa…” He unlatched the door and opened it to show off the inside. “This should do it for you. The insulation’s cut at an angle for a snug fit, so you shouldn’t have any heat escapin’ when the temp drops outside. Each layer’s got a loop on every side, so someone should be able to pull it out no matter what they reach for. They’re also claw-friendly. An’ pink! Because—well, everyone reaches for the pink first, y’know? Pink means fuel, even mechs who can’t read should be able to figure it out.” He closed the cabinet again and rapped on it with his knuckles. “Plus I shored up your hinges so they shouldn’t start swingin’ loose anytime soon.”

“It’s perfect.” Swerve glanced up as subtly as he could to see if he really meant that. Whirl seemed almost teary. He walked forward and ran his hands over Swerve’s finished work. “You’re Primus sent, Swerve, I’m lucky to have your services.” He graced Swerve with another gorgeous smile.

Swerve was struck with the thought that Whirl should charge for those. For the smiles. He’d make a fortune.

Whirl stepped back and reached into his subspace for something but stopped before pulling anything out. “You did such a good job on these. Would you mind taking a look at something else for me?”

“Sure, what is it?” He could’ve kicked himself for answering so quickly.

“The doors around the clinic don’t always close like they’re supposed to.” Whirl give him a hopeful smile. “Could you give fixing them a shot? I’ll pay you for your time and any materials you wind up needing.”

...Well, Swerve had already fixed _these_ doors. And it wasn’t like they were difficult repairs to do. Plus a good, sturdy door couldn’t be undervalued around here, where everything fell apart so readily. He might even be able to find a working deadbolt for the clinic, if Whirl allowed it. “Yeah, I can do that for you.”

Whirl went back to rifling through his subspace. “How much do I owe you?”

“What?”

“For fixing the storage and my energon stash. How much do I owe you?”

“Um.” Swerve hadn’t had real credits in years. Not since the bar.

Unless you were needed it for something specific—like parts or materials or a buymech’s time—it was almost as useless to have on hand as it was dangerous. Mechs mostly traded in fuel, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t mug someone at the slightest chance they had money and weren’t in a position to fight back. Which, as a minibot, Swerve almost never was.

Getting paid was risky, but Swerve didn’t want Whirl to think he was going to do all this work for him for free. “Maybe don’t.” He paused. “Yet. You hold onto it, I don’t have anywhere real safe to keep credits an’ I can’t go walkin’ around with cash in subspace. ‘Sides, if I’m workin’ for you still I’ll see you ‘round. Just...pay me when I’m done.”

Whirl seemed hesitant but he didn’t argue. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” He shrugged and smiled, trying to keep things from getting too serious. “Plus this way you’ll know I’m not gonna bail on you with the job half done. Leave you doorless.”

Whirl laughed. “I’m sure you won’t.”

* * *

It was four months before Swerve came by the clinic in the middle of the night for something that _wasn’t_ an emergency. He spent a surprising number of nights dragging mechs out of dark alleys and hauling them to whichever clinic was closest without cutting through police territory. He might’ve favored Whirl’s clinic over Ratchet’s, but that could be easily explained by him haunting the nearby buildings more often now that he had a job to do there. It definitely wasn’t because he trusted Whirl miles further than he did Ratchet. Whirl was somehow always there when he pounded on the front door, ready to receive patients as Swerve delivered them.

That night, though, Swerve was wandering around with nowhere to be. He didn’t want to admit to being lonely, but he needed to swing by the clinic to look in. To make sure everything was as it should be.

It was quiet, only the sound of sick or damaged idling engines cutting through the air. Not the sort of comfort Swerve craved, but some noise was better than nothing. He was coming around the corner to peek in on the bitlets when he saw someone laying on the floor in front of the door. Even in the dark the jumble of angles was immediately recognizable as a frame. The mech looked to be sleeping, his position was one of rest rather than that of someone collapsed in pain.

The colors registered next.

“Whirl?” The baffled, half-whispered question escaped his vocoder of its own accord. Why was he on the floor? Why was he here at _all_ when there was nothing going on?

Whirl stirred and turned over to look at Swerve and he almost bolted, feeling caught. “Swerve?” The fuzzy tone surrounding his name made Swerve’s spark flutter even though he _knew_ it was a product of an interrupted recharge cycle.

“Yeah, it—” He reset his vocoder to an even lower volume. “It’s me. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’fine.” Whirl sat up and stretched, his optics blinking as they reset. “S’there something wrong?”

“No. No, we’re all good. All’s quiet on the homefront.”

“You sure?” He frowned. Swerve could feel the edge of his field and he could teek Whirl’s genuine concern. “Are you hungry?”

“No.” Was he? He was sitting at a comfortable twenty-five percent, but the feeling of a mostly empty tank was something he was used to now. Plus he didn't have anything else he needed to _do_  tonight. “Maybe?” He didn’t want to upset Whirl after waking him up in the middle of the night—when he was at the clinic of all places, meaning he’d probably just missed Whirl expertly resolving some kind of crisis—but Swerve wasn’t sure what would affect him more.

Whirl gave him a worried look. “Maybe?”

“I’m fine, really, I don’t wanna put you out.” He made a sweeping gesture toward the space between them. “How come you’re sleepin’ on the floor?”

“I’m the nursery’s security alarm.” Whirl said, sitting up on his heels to better address Swerve. “I used to sleep _in_ the nursery but someone stumbled in while blitzed on boosters. They were trying to find the fuel storage and they stepped on a bitty before I could stop them.”

Swerve winced. “Ah frag…”

“It was _bad_. The bitty made it but…”

“Yeah. Yeah, I get that.” That was _awful_. “Y’know, I can probably get you a good enough lock that you don’t gotta sleep out here to make sure no one wanders in.”

“But then the bitlets won’t be able to get out if they need something.” Whirl shook his helm. “This is better.” He fixed Swerve with another worried glance. “Did you say you’re hungry?”

No, but… “Maybe.”

Whirl gave him a soft, understanding smile. “Come on, you don’t gotta be shy about it.” He stood and motioned for Swerve to follow him down the hall.

Swerve followed at his heels. “If I got a good deadbolt for you, you could sleep _inside_ the nursery with the bitlets. It’d be better’n sleepin’ on the floor.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Lock that sucker from the inside an’ no one’ll get past you.” He glanced back over his shoulder at the shut door before following Whirl into the fuel storage room. “Plus that way you’ll have some way to keep ‘em safe when you’re _not_ here.”

“What do you mean?” Whirl pulled a full sized cube off a higher shelf and handed it to Swerve.

Swerve accepted the cube and cracked the seal, careful not to slosh its contents in his hurry. The thick smell of additive-rich fuel reminded him of hunger he could usually ignore and he had to fight not to chug it immediately. He took a slow, measured sip before responding. “When you leave. Y’know, to go home?”

Whirl looked confused for a few seconds, but then he laughed. “This is my home. I live here.”

Swerve almost did a spittake. He swallowed hard instead and coughed. “ _What?_ ”

“I...live here? I only leave when I’ve gotta pull a shift at the hospital.”

Swerve stared at Whirl like he’d grown a second helm. Or a third. Who would _choose_ to live in the Dead End? Questions crowded his vocoder, none of them good, and he couldn’t afford to offend Whirl so he shoved the edge of the cube back into his mouth and choked down a few more swallows of medical grade instead of asking any of them. His fuel gauge perked up and started making the unreasonably hopeful arc towards full. Once he was more sure that he wasn’t going to blurt out ‘what the frag is wrong with you’, Swerve lowered the cube again. “You oughtta sleep in a berth.”

Whirl waved away his concern. He closed and latched the energon storage and started going through the motions of cleaning up the already spic and span room “Oh, I couldn’t. There’s lots of mechs who don’t have a place to sleep yet.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who’s fixin’ ‘em, so you should get a berth.” He wasn’t sure how well that logic followed through, but it sounded right. “Especially if you’re livin’ here.”

Whirl made a noncommittal noise. Swerve wasn’t sure if he didn’t want to muster up a response or his point had been absorbed by the layer of exhaustion Whirl was obviously wrapped in.

“What kinda use are you gonna be to everyone if you’re tired all the time? You’re gonna be a lot more... I dunno. Spry? Peppy? You’re gonna have more oomph if you’re gettin’ more’n an hour of recharge at a time. Plus you won’t get mooks like me interruptin’ you while you’re dozin’ in the middle of the floor.” Swerve kept returning to the cube, keeping himself from chugging it by taking breaks to speak and keeping himself by putting his pede in his mouth by repeatedly interrupting himself to drink.

Whirl watched him for a few seconds. “You don’t gotta ask to refuel while you’re working here.”

Swerve paused, the cube partway to his mouth again. “What?”

“You’re hungry, but you don’t need to be. Whenever you drop below fifty percent just come in and grab a cube.”

Swerve frowned. “Boss, you’re gonna go broke if you make that a policy.”

Whirl wiped down an already clean counter for the third time since they’d started talking. “It’s already a policy, part of the open-door thing. Plus you’re working here.”

“So’re you.” Come to think of it… “When’s the last time _you_ refueled?”

Whirl shrugged one shoulder. “Before I put the bitties down to sleep.” He smiled, still sweet and made even softer by sleep. “I’m fine, Swerve.”

Swerve’s fuel gauge ticked past thirty-five percent and a rush of heat swept through him, charge crackling in his substructure. It was a familiar feeling but so _sudden_ he nearly dropped the fuel he was holding. He shoved the edge of the cube back into his mouth so he wouldn’t have to speak. He snuck a peek at Whirl over the rim and his interfacing equipment pinged him with a request to online.

Oh. _Frag_.

Whirl was hot. Whirl was _really hot_. He was three times Swerve’s height, with long legs and a perfect aft right above Swerve’s optic level and a tiny waist and a gently sloped cockpit... His face was expressive and beautiful, even with shadows of exhaustion around his optics, and his tired smile made Swerve’s spark flare hot in his chest. The white of his thighs would show off paint transfers like they were meant to carry them. Swerve’s dark blue would stand out _perfectly_. Swerve dragged his optics away. He was staring. He shouldn’t be staring. He shouldn’t even be _thinking_ about kissing Whirl and pulling him down to his level and winding up with bright white paint transfers all over his face and shoulders. Whirl could pin Swerve’s face to his valve and Swerve would thank him for the opportunity. That was _unfair_.

“Swerve?” He glanced up. Whirl was looking at him with concern. He’d definitely noticed the staring. Or the sudden _not staring_.

Swerve’s field—held tight to his frame—squirmed with embarrassment. He threw back the last dregs of the medgrade and swallowed hard to clear his intake. His fuel gauge was over seventy percent for the first time in _years_ and his interfacing system was humming away, his equipment sending repeated requests to activate. He set the cube on the nearest counter with a firm clink. “I gotta go.”

The concern shifted to confusion. “Already?”

Swerve nodded stiffly. “Yep. I was just passin’ through an’ stopped by to check on things. If you’re really fine, I'm gonna keep goin’.” He definitely wasn't charged up. He _definitely_ wasn't about to start leaking into his panels. “I’ll see you sometime tomorrow, probably.”

“Oh. Okay. See you around.”

“Bye.” Swerve made a hurried retreat almost before the words left his mouth. In the quiet night outside the clinic he cycled a full ventilation and sighed heavily. Charge buzzed through him. It was hot and combined with his mostly full tank it would have been nice if not for the context. He couldn’t find Whirl _attractive,_ not on top of thinking he was kind and sweet and absurdly naive. He couldn't deal with that.

Swerve dragged his hands over his face and tried to savor the fluttery, bubbly feeling of arousal for a few moments before he started sorting through his autonomic controls for a way to shut it down.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get... a little complicated.

Swerve stopped in his tracks and tried to keep himself calm. Being tailed was stressful. “What’re you doin’?”

He didn’t have to turn around to know the mech who’d been following him had stopped too. They paused for a few seconds—long enough for Swerve to wonder if they were going to cut and run without saying anything—before sauntering around in front of him. “I was wonderin’ if ya wanted some company.” They were barely taller than him, purple and gold plating clean but clearly scratched in places that required a partner or two to reach. Their optics were beautiful though, and the confident expression they wore spoke of many years of practice at their trade. They might not be wearing the usual colors for a Rodion buymech, but they were clearly a businessmech in that field.

Swerve squinted at them. “I don’t think I can afford the kinda company you're offerin’.”

They affected a pout—probably fake, but it certainly looked real—and walked closer, stopping only when they were almost bumping elbows with Swerve. “Now, ya ain’t even heard the offer yet. How can ya know that?”

He didn’t back away. Trying to get his personal space back would be a show of weakness. A gap in his armor. “I don’t have any credits or fuel on me. Unless you’re pitchin’ a freebie, you’re gonna have to take your business elsewhere.”

“Too bad. I was hopin’ to get to know ya better.” They shrugged and offered their hand. “The name’s Swindle. I’ve seen ya ‘round but we ain’t met yet.”

“Swerve.” Swerve took his hand and shook it. “I can’t say I’ve seen you around but that doesn’t mean much. What’re you doin’ out this way?”

“What’m _I_ doin’ out here? What’re _you_ doin’ out here, that’s the real question. I’m from Kaon, _you_ sound like ya got slapped t’gether where, Petrex?”

“You’re pretty close. Helex. You’d think I coulda lost the accent by now but it ain’t goin’ nowhere.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m a third career guttermech, you know how it goes.”

Swindle nodded sagely. Whether or not he _actually_ knew, it was kinda nice not to have to explain himself further. Swindle hooked his arm through Swerve’s in a very slick maneuver. “So, where ya headed now, draggin’ all that charge around with ya?”

Swerve rolled his optics and fought back a blush. It had been a long day of trying not to stare at Whirl’s aft—or legs, or cockpit, or _face_ —and he’d finally given up and called it quits on the berth repairs he was in the middle of. He finished what he started, didn't leave anything deconstructed, but he did bail without saying goodnight to Whirl. He intended to go back later that evening, once his charge subsided. His array pinged him a reminder of his standing interest in anything that moved and he dismissed it as quickly as possible. “I’m not goin’ anywhere in particular, just tryin’a walk it off.”

“Why walk it off when I’m right here, willin’ to lend a helpin’ hand?” Swindle accompanied the question with a gentle brush of fingers up Swerve’s arm. Suggestive, but not veering into dangerous territory.

Swerve looked at Swindle closely. He was gorgeous, but the plating around his optics was dingy and there were the very beginnings of rust spots around his collar near newly popped-out dents. He looked hungry. Swerve sighed. “I can’t pay you.” He said seriously. “But my boss pays me in medgrade so if what you really want is to swallow we can do that.”

Swindle’s already large optics went wide. “Yer boss pays you in _medgrade?_ ”

“Yeah, he’s a bleedin’ spark.” Swerve frowned. “Come to think of it if I bring you back with me I can probably fuel you up, too.”

Swindle _stared_ at him. “...what’s his price?”

“No price. He might wanna look you over if he’s there, but he’s a medic an’ I ain’t yet seen ‘im take advantage of one’a his patients. It’ll be painless.” Depending on how messed up Swindle was under the hood it might hurt _some_ , but no worse than doing nothing. Swindle was looking at him like he’d announced that it was scheduled to rain energon for the next three days but then the sun was going to explode. “I swear to Primus, he’s the real deal. He’s the kinda mech who i’m gonna hafta threaten your life if you take advantage of him. He’s naive to a _ridiculous_ degree.”

“You sure about that?” The skepticism in his voice was understandable.

“I’m sure. Hell, he wasn’t even there when I left, we might miss ‘im entirely.” Swerve placed his other hand on the arm Swindle had looped through his. “I won’t hold it against you if you cut an’ run.”

Swindle straightened up and composed himself, looking for all the world like high class arm candy that had just gotten misplaced somehow. “An’ leave a client wantin’? Never.”

Swerve laughed and started walking back toward the clinic. “I’m a client now? I thought we established that I can’t pay you.”

“Ya can’t pay me with anythin’ _you_ own.” Swindle said with a wink.

“Okay, fair enough.” It wasn’t too far to the clinic. They were a little further south than Swerve usually wandered, but he’d only been out for an hour and he didn’t exactly get to where they were by going in a straight line. “What’re you doin’ in Rodion?”

Swindle smirked at him. “Small talk, really?”

“What? It’s either small talk or I start regalin’ you with the best ways to store energon long term.” Swindle’s field didn’t change, but when Swerve glanced over at him he seemed to have perked up a bit. “Shop talk’s usually borin’ for mechs. Also I tend to keep talkin’ _long_ after a subject’s gone cold. I know you’re not gonna run screamin’ since we’re headin’ toward salvation, but I don’t wanna bore you to death before we get there.”

“‘Headin’ toward salvation’?” Swindle’s smirk had widened.

Swerve snorted. “It’s free fuel, it might as well be the Well.”

Swindle laughed and pulled Swerve’s arm into a small hug, his field spreading warm and light over Swerve’s plating. “Okay, I can see that. You were sayin’ about shop talk…?” he asked encouragingly.

“Okay, alright, I can give you shop talk.” Whether or not Swindle was actually interested, it would pass the time while they made their way back to the clinic. “I’ve been workin’ on fixin’ things around the clinic for the boss. He just picks more scrap for me to repair whenever I get done with the last thing. But! The first thing he had me do was shore up his energon storage. It was a mess, all his cubes were stacked up with no kinda environmental controls at all. It’s the norm but it’s also _awful_ for anythin’ with a lotta additives in it so all his medgrade was wrecked. Still potable, but gross to the point’a maybe bein’ poison if your systems can’t ID everythin’ in it.” Swindle made a soft noise of disgust. Swerve probably wasn’t supposed to notice, but he appreciated it. “I know, right??”

He tsked. “That’s such a fraggin’ waste.”

“That’s what I said! I actually told him off for it.” Swindle shot him a slightly concerned look. “Not badly! Or really effectively. He offered me a job instead’a kickin’ me to the curb so I musta said somethin’ right.”

“Or he decided he could get some free labor outta ya.”

“I thought so, but he’s been fuelin’ me an’ that _definitely_ ain’t free.”

Swindle frowned. “An’ he’s yer boss.”

“Yyyyeah?” Swerve matched Swindle’s concern with confusion. “He is. What does that mean t’you? Because it sounds like it means somethin’ different than it does to me.”

Swindle shook his helm, his field tinged with something darker for a split second. “Nah, it’s not any big thing.” He smiled at Swerve and the darkness was gone. “Sorry, where was ya goin’ with this story?”

“Nowhere really, I was gonna get to tellin’ you how I went about protectin’ the boss’ medgrade stores from the elements.”

“Go on, I like listenin’.” The weird thing was, Swindle actually _did_ seem to enjoy listening to Swerve talk. He hummed acknowledgement at all the right spots and actually commented a few times. Swerve was feeling good by the time the reached the clinic. His charge refused to die—which he could blame at least in part on Swindle running his fingers all over his arm and shoulder and _tire_ but he hadn’t exactly told him to stop—and it felt good to be listened to by someone who was definitely paying attention, even if Swindle was only there because Swerve was, technically, a client.

It was when Swindle’s wandering hands started flirting with his wheel wells that Swerve took a turn from his strictly fuel-based rambling. “Y’know, I’ve always wondered about blowjob etiquette with you guys. Buymechs. Does that count as payment so long as you get the transfuild?” Which was probably a rude question, but Swerve honestly wanted to know. “I mean, it still feels like that’d be stiffin’ you but I dunno how you’d work out that kinda deal.”

“ _Stiffin’_ me, huh?”

“You know what I mean.” Swerve grinned. “Also, yes.”

Swindle made a thoughtful sound. “Depends. If I don't get injured bad enough to bleed an’ get to swallow, s’ a net gain. But it means losin’ time I could spend on a payin’ customer. So it depends on how low my levels are, how slow business is that day. Other sex workers got their own policies, though.” He sighed. “Tonight? I'd take transfluid for payment.”

Swerve hummed. “Let’s see if we can get you some real fuel first, yeah? If somethin’ goes bad an’ I can’t getcha the fuel, that can be the backup plan.” The clinic came into view in the distance, visible between the shells of a few buildings that were at one point habitable. Probably. One would assume. Swerve pointed it out with his free hand. “There it is! Home. Sorta. I’m pretty sure I’d hafta sleep there more than once for it to count.”

The two of them had to keep quiet for the last hundred yards or so coming up to the clinic’s front door. It wasn’t a huge risk at this time of day, but there wasn’t any harm in being a little extra cautious. Despite Swerve’s repeated requests, the clinic wasn’t locked _ever_. He understood why Whirl wanted to leave the door open, he knew plenty of mechs who needed to get into the clinic at odd hours, but Swerve was starting with something he knew Whirl would never agree to—outside security—with the hopes of eventually bartering him down to at least locking up his medical equipment when it wasn’t in use.

Swindle seemed surprised when Swerve opened the front door with no problem. “So yer boss is here?”

“Nah, not always, the door bein’ open don’t mean anythin’. He don’t lock up ever. Lets people sneak through here an’ steal shit from ‘im.” He waved for Swindle to follow him inside. “Like I said, he’s naive to the point where I really oughtta be givin’ you a talk about not takin’ advantage of ‘im. Not like that’d stop anyone.”

“Huh.” Swindle came through the door and trailed after Swerve to the front storage room. “And yer sure he’s not gonna show up an’ tear into ya for stealin’ on my behalf?”

“Ohhhhh yeah, I’m sure’a that.” Swerve tapped on a few of the cabinet doors until the thud under his knuckles was a little lighter. Most of the first layer of cubes was already gone when he opened the door. “There we are!” He pulled out a full sized cube of medgrade, still sealed, and held it up to the light to check it for impurities. The liquid was a thick, pure pink with a silvery sheen from all the incorporated additives. “I know you’re not gonna tell me what your fuel level’s’re at, but I’m _pretty sure_ you’re gonna be able to drink all’a this.” He closed the storage with one hand and latched it, holding the cube out to Swindle with the other.

Swindle gaped at the fuel, his expression open and stunned. “...that’s what yer gonna give me?”

Swerve stifled a sigh and stepped forward. Twice, when Swindle took half a step back. He kept the cube held out but didn’t force it into his hands. “Yeah, this is what I’m gonna give you. It’s medical grade, an’ it’s high quality. I can prove it to you since I rechecked it all myself.”

“Why?”

“I had to make sure the boss wasn’t gettin’ ripped off.”

“No, I mean—” Swindle dragged his optics away from the cube. He was tearing up. “I ain’t even done anythin’ for ya yet. An’ I sure as slag ain’t done anythin’ for yer boss—” He sniffed hard and looked away.

“You don’t gotta do anythin’. He’s givin’ this away for free. The cube’s even got his comm number on it so you could call ‘im up an’ ask if it was okay if you wanted. See?” He turned the cube and pointed to the label on the side. The fake graffiti. “You can take it, Swindle, it’s yours.”

“You don’t understand. Slick—if I drink this—” Swindle sniffed hard, clearly trying to pull back up his flirtatious business persona. “It’s fine, I jus’ don’t like owin’ anyone.”

Swerve frowned. “If you drink this, what’ll Slick—your boss?—what’ll he do?”

Swindle glanced back toward the door. “...if I go an’ drink any’a Oilslick’s profits he’ll find some way to get it back outta me. Sometimes he straight drinks from my lines an’ I end up with less’n I had to start with. I can’t—I can’t afford that right now, Swerve, I _can’t_.”

Swerve’s frown deepened, concern edging his field where he tentatively reached for Swindle’s. “....I’m guessin’ you can’t just lie to ‘im either.”

Swindle flinched and shook his helm. “No. He owns me. Owns my frame. I can’t lie to him.”

“Then refuel with this one an’ take another cube to him.” Swindle looked at him like he’d sprouted a second helm. “I’m serious! The boss won’t mind, an’ so long as he’s gettin’ his due _your_ boss shouldn’t have reason to take back what you drank, right?”

“He’ll do it anyway, reason or not.” Swindle shook his helm. “Thanks for tryin’ but if it’s part’a the payment, it’s gotta go to Slick.”

Swerve looked over Swindle’s shoulder, checking the doorway behind him before grabbing his hand and tugging him out of the room. “Okay, go along with me on this for a second. Just. I installed locks on all the back rooms so we can talk an’ no one’ll overhear.”

“No one’ll overhear, huh?” Swindle’s teasing skepticism was tinged with…disappointment, maybe? Swerve wasn’t sure.

“No. I mean yes!” He pulled Swindle into one of the rooms that he was still working on, deconstructed berths stacked along the walls and crowding the floor. He closed and locked the door behind them. When he turned back to Swindle, he looked resigned. “Right. That was a weird thing to do. Sorry.” He held up the cube still in his other hand. “What if the second cube was your payment, and this one wasn’t.”

Swindle tore his optics away from the cube again to shoot Swerve a look he just couldn’t place. “What?”

“You get all sorts’a clients, right? Well I’ve got a...feeding kink. Sure. Let’s go with that.” Swerve took Swindle’s other hand and pressed it to the side of the cube. “Let me refuel you. With medical grade. That neither of us had to pay for. That’s _super_ kinky, probably a v expensive service that’ll have to be paid for in high-quality fuel, I’ll bet your boss will like that part.”

The look of dawning understanding on Swindle’s face was priceless, marred slightly by the fact that he was tearing up. “Ya really mean that? Yer serious.”

“I’m _so_ serious. Look at this face. It’s my serious face.” Swerve pulled Swindle further toward the back of the room and sat down on the floor. He pried open the seal on the cube with his dentae before Swindle could ask again if he meant it. “Let me feed you. Please.”

Swindle knelt next to him, then sat. “How d’you wanna do this?”

Swerve chewed his lower lip for a moment, thinking, before motioning Swindle closer. “Here, can I—?”

Swindle shrugged. “Yer the client, do whatever ya like.”

As completely uninterested as that sounded, Swerve being the client meant Swindle would be able to accept this fuel as part of the deal. Scene. Whatever. Swerve set the cube down and lifted Swindle into his lap. He picked the cube back up and set it in Swindle’s hands. “Here. I’ll help but I don’t wanna go too fast for you.” He settled his free hand on Swindle’s middle and hesitated. “Is this okay?”

“This is fine.” Swindle’s optics were locked on the cube in his hands. “Can I drink it?”

“Yeah. Go for it. You don’t gotta rush, I’m not gonna take it away before you’re done.” Before the words were fully out of his mouth Swindle had lifted the cube to his lips and taken a deep swig. Swerve felt a shudder run through his frame and a subvocal groan rumbled through him. Swerve felt his charge spike at the sound and tamped it down as quickly as possible. It was just refueling. It was normal, even if he’d gone and made it a kink thing for the sake of Swindle being able to do it safely. “Good?”

Swindle made a noise of appreciation but didn’t stop drinking. Swerve rubbed his ventral plating, enjoying the closeness. Swindle paused in drinking, keeping the cube less than an inch from his lips even as he spoke. “That’s nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Keep doin’ that?”

“Sure.” Swindle went back to drinking the medgrade and his pleased humming vibrated through both of them. “I’m glad you like it. I mean. Yeah. Yes. Of course you like refueling, doesn’t everyone? I’m glad you like this part. I’m glad you don’t _mind_ the sorta snugglin’... _thing_ we’ve got goin’ on here—” Swerve stopped short when Swindle outright moaned. He felt himself blush, his array pinging him incessantly for permission to online. “Yyyyyyep, mm-hm, snugglin’.” He rubbed gentle circles into Swindle’s plating. “You’re awfully smooth considerin’ everthin’ you must go through on a daily basis. You must take really good care’a yourself when you can. That’s good. Good for you.” He bit his lip and tried not to stare at Swindle’s mouth but there wasn’t much else to look at in the back room. “Is the uh—is the fuel doin’ alright for you? Goin’ down smooth?”

“Mmhmm...” Swindle hummed a positive response, locking optics with Swerve without stopping his refueling. He wiggled a little, shifting to get more comfortable in Swerve’s lap.

Swerve narrowed his optics at him. “You're doin’ that on purpose.” Swindle’s field flirting innocently against his was the only response he got. “I can’t exactly hold it against you, I’m the one who asked for this. It’s not my fault you look good content but I reckon it ain’t your fault either.”

Swindle paused long enough to smirk at him. “‘Reckon’?”

“You know what I—” he cut off with an ungainly squeak as Swindle shifted in his lap, hip plating sliding against Swerve’s closed spike panel. Swerve’s interfacing protocols blew through all his failsafes and snapped online. “Swindle, that isn’t part’a the deal.”

“What isn’t?” Swindle’s expression was impossible guileless. “I'm jus’ sittin’ in yer lap to refuel, like ya want me to.” He took another deep drink to illustrate and his optics flickered offline. He moaned deep in his throat, loud and openly appreciative.

Swerve didn't quite catch the forlorn, sympathetic sound of need that escaped his vocoder. He coughed to try to cover it but Swindle paid him no mind.

He was heating up in Swerve’s arms. His engine turned over into a soft, sickly purr. With his optics dimmed—and no longer stealing Swerve’s attention every time he looked at him—it was easy to see just how long Swindle had been hungry. He also looked incredibly vulnerable. When the cube was emptied Swindle ran a finger around the inside to catch the last few drops that were stuck stubbornly in the corners. He licked his fingers slowly and then sighed, relaxing in Swerve’s arms. “Thank you.”

“Another?”

Swindle startled. “What?”

Swerve fumbled for a better way to ask than blurting out a single word. “Would you drink another? You’ll still get paid with a separate cube, it’s just—” he floundered for an excuse. “It’s hot?” Sure, go with that. “And Whirl would approve.”

“Whirl?”

“My boss. He'd like this. Like that I'm doin’ this.” Which was true, strangely enough. Whirl wanted to save the world. He cared too damn much about every leaker and booster addict and broke down guttermech who came across his door and as much as that was _dangerous,_ Swerve appreciated it. Swindle would appreciate it too if he believed it, but the look on his face said he did not. “He would! He’d—” Swerve shook his helm. “Look, if you met him, you’d know.”

“Uh- _huh_.” Swindle set the empty cube down and stretched languidly. “Alright then, I _guess_ I can drink another cube for ya. Yer the client, it's yer aft on the line if he ain't happy.”

“I'll take full responsibility, I promise.” Swerve scooped Swindle up, one arm under his legs and the other behind his back, and lifted him off his lap. He settled him carefully on the floor. “I'll be right back.”

He hurried to the fuel storage room, not even stopping to properly exchange rude gestures with one of the regulars he passed on the way there. It was obvious that he was dragging charge, Swerve didn't need to be reminded of it by a mech who came in once a month for replacement dentae because he kept pulling out his dental ridges and selling them off for cash. It _was_ comforting to know that no matter their personal differences they could convey insults nonverbally. The signs the mech made were graphic, accurate, and narratively dense. Swerve could only respond with an exaggerated expression of disgust and flipping him off with both hands. The mech laughed at him and turned the corner at the other end of the hall as Swerve ducked into the storage room.

It felt different to unlatch the storage cabinet and pull out a cube without someone right there to consume it. When he took two cubes and tucked one into subspace, for the first time ever it felt like _stealing_. This fuel wasn't for himself or for someone else who needed it, it was to pay off a mech who—though Swerve had no confirmation of it and wasn't likely to get any from Swindle—probably kept his underlings leashed with slave coding. If it really kept Swindle from being hurt for accepting energon it was worth it, but it still felt _wrong._ Swerve shook his helm and shut the storage firmly. He needed to be practical about this. Swindle needed him to be practical.

He didn’t run back to meet Swindle, his pace purposely casual. He only hesitated for a few seconds before walking in. He gave Swindle a bright smile and re-locked the door behind him. “Got another!”

Swindle was sprawled out on the floor. He gave Swerve a glittering smile. “My hero.”

Swerve laughed and walked over to him. “Let’s get this started, then.” He sat down and Swindle crawled back into his lap, snuggling back in so his hip was pressed against Swerve’s array cover. Swerve didn’t comment, but he gave Swindle a look he hoped conveyed that he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. Swindle maintained his innocent air and sagged against Swerve when he handed him the next cube. “This one’s for you. I’ve got your pay in subspace so you don’t hafta worry about it.”

“I ain’t worried.”

“You were a little worried.” Swerve shrugged one shoulder and wrapped his arms around Swindle again, settling one hand on his belly to resume the soft rubbing from before. “It’s okay. It’s a worryin’ situation. Anyone would be a little concerned if they were in your platin’.”

Swindle hummed. All his attention was on the cube in his hand. He moaned freely when the fuel hit his lips.

Swerve hummed back and smiled. It was nice to have someone so close and enjoying themself so much. The lubricant pooling behind his array cover confirmed how _nice_ it was, but he tried to ignore that. He pushed the zaps of charge that zinged through him every time Swindle shifted and made appreciative noises to the back of his processor. “What kinda fuel d’you like? I know you don’t have options, really, so… other’n energy-rich an’ loaded down with additives, what’s your ideal?”

Swindle paused, looking up at Swerve with partially dimmed optics. “Why?”

“I used to be a bartender. That was the second of the three careers. I love fuel, talkin’ about it, thinkin’ about it. Humor me?”

“Sweet.” Swindle stretched, arching up without losing his grip on the cube. The movement dragged his plating against Swerve’s closed array covers and he bit down on a whimper. Focus, _focus_ . Swindle didn’t comment on Swerve’s obvious shiver. “I ain’t had much chance to _try_ things, but I got ta taste an energon gummy second-hand once.” Swindle’s blissful sigh matched up with his field in a way nothing else had since he’d teared up back in the storage room. It felt genuine. “If I had options? Sweet. Everthin’ sweet.”

“Good to know.” Not that Swerve had access to anything like that, but it was something to hold onto for the future. “I used to make energon candy, but it’s been...frag, almost ten thousand years since then? Maybe longer, time moves weird ‘round here. There’s the days you don’t die an’—no, yeah, that’s it. There’s the days you don’t die.” Swindle hummed acknowledgement and wiggled closer. “I don’t know the date an’ I feel like that oughtta bother me more’n it does.”

Swindle drained the last of the medgrade. “It don’t matter, really. Like ya said, there’s the day yer dead an’ everythin’ else is jus’ a day before that.” He ran his fingers around the inside of the empty cube and licked them off. Swerve couldn’t help but stare. Swindle smiled and took his fingers from his mouth, dropping them down and dragging them over Swerve’s panels, leaving wet streaks on the hot metal. “Any chance I’m gonna get dessert?”

Swerve sputtered. His spike pressurized into his closed panels with a too-loud _thunk_ and he winced. “I’m—you know you don’t gotta, right?”

“Sweetspark, we both know what’s goin’ on here.” Swindle tapped lightly on the closed panel, the vibrations stimulating Swerve’s spike. “Somethin’ tells me yer the kinda mech what appreciates a little honesty, amirite?” Swerve nodded. “I don’t gotta suck ya off but I ain’t one to leave a customer unsatisfied an’ I’d rather swallow yer transfluid than do anythin’ else. I _like_ givin’ head.” He hooked his fingertips into the manual release latch but didn’t press it.

Swerve vented unsteadily. “Okay. Alright.” He retracted his panels and his spike pressurized the rest of the way. “Tell me if you need a minute?”

Swindle set the empty cube aside and moved so he was kneeling between Swerve’s legs. The closeness wouldn’t have been possible if he’d been any bigger. He wrapped his fingers around Swerve’s spike and Swerve bit down on his lower lip, muffling a whimper. Swindle grinned at him. “I’m a professional, doll’.”

Swerve returned the smile. “‘Doll’’?” Swindle didn’t do more than roll his optics before taking Swerve’s spike into his mouth. Swerve scrambled for something to hold onto and ended up with one hand on the back of Swindle’s helm and the other scraping against the floor. “Oh—oh _frag_ that’s good. That’s nice holy—” Swindle took him in further, pushing down slowly until his lips were flush with Swerve’s sheath. “Ah _h!_ How are you even—? A-plus, mech, aces to you, best blowjob ever.” His fans stuttered to life and blasted hot air out his frontal vents. “I guess that’s kinda obvious that you’d be the best? It’s your job an’ like you said you’re professionaAH! FrAg—” Swindle did _something_ with his glossa and swallowed around his spike. Swerve realized belatedly that he was holding Swindle’s helm down and let go. Swindle whined when he let up on the pressure. “No? Yes to the helm-holding?” He pressed down again, fitting his hand to the crown of Swindle’s helm. Swindle moaned and the vibrations traveled straight through him. Swerve’s fans roared. “Ohhhh Primus. Yes, okay, yes to the hands-on-helm thing. Great! Good to—good to know.” His charge spiraled high. It’d been too long since anyone else had laid hands—much less _mouth_ —on him in this way in too long. “I’m gonna—frag I know you don’t care it’s gotta be easier when your clients can’t hold on for the long haul but—” Swindle reached up and covered the hand Swerve had on his helm with his. He looked up and made optic contact, lips stretched wide around Swerve’s spike. Swerve overloaded with a garbled shout, holding Swindle close.

It took a long few seconds for Swerve to come back to himself. His fans were spinning on high and when he loosened his grip on Swindle’s helm, Swindle didn’t pull off right away. He kept his mouth flush with Swerve’s plating for a bit.

“You okay down there?” There was a _lot_ of static in his voice and a quick reset did nothing to clear it. “I probably shouldn’t say anthin’ because of the whole ‘satisfied customers’ thing—an’ trust me, I am _satisfied_ —but if you stay down there too much longer it’s gonna pressurize again.” Swindle met his gaze again, his optics sparkling with something like anticipation. A new flare of charge rose up around Swerve’s spark and his interfacing systems moved from idling to fully online in an instant. “ _Oh._ Really?”

Swindle nodded nearly imperceptibly. Swerve only felt it because of the hand still resting on his helm.

Swerve’s vocoder clicked uselessly for a moment and came back online even more staticky than before. “Well alright then, have at it.”

* * *

Swerve checked Swindle’s face for paint transfers for the second time and Swindle smiled at him. “Ya checkin’ me for evidence?”

“You’re too pretty to have my paint all over your face.” Swerve brushed his thumbs over Swindle’s lips. They were dented in the corner but the sharp angle looked like it was from someone’s fist, not Swerve’s spike. Swindle kissed the tip of Swerve’s thumb and Swerve gave him what he hoped was a suitably unimpressed look. This close, Swindle’s optics were mesmerizing. Swerve knew he could easily get lost in them.

Swindle dimmed his optics and smirked. “Ya wanna kiss me? No charge.”

He did. He _really_ did. “You an’ I both know nothin’s ever free. I’ll hold off until I can pay you for it properly.” Swerve let go of Swindle’s face and patted his shoulders. “You’re good to go. No marks from me you gotta explain away to other mechs.”

“Sweetspark, anyone I’d need to explain myself to ain’t gonna care one way or the other how many spikes I’ve had down my intake.” Swindle took his hands when they were offered and let Swerve help him stand. Neither of them commented on the weight of the cube Swerve handed to him, or the relieved ventilation that escaped Swindle once the medgrade was settled in his subspace. He playfully patted Swerve’s hip and winked. “Pleasure doin’ business with ya.”

Swerve swatted at his hand and missed. “Same to you.” He unlocked the door and waved Swindle out into the hallway. “So, Swindle of Kaon, can I expect to see you around again? You said you’ve seen _me_ before, now that we’ve been formally introduced you could always stop me an’ say hi if you wanted.”

“Mm…” Swindle waltzed past him with a smile. “I could be convinced.” Which—okay, that was probably flirtation because Swerve had been a good client, but it was still nice to be smiled at and joked with. “I gotta get back to pay the boss his due, but this was worth the detour. Yer gonna see me around again.”

“Good! Good. I’d like that.”

They were almost to the entrance when Whirl poked his helm out of one of the examination rooms. “Swerve! I’m glad I caught ya. Can I look over yer friend before they leave?”

Swerve didn’t like the hot, uncomfortable, _caught_ feeling that bubbled up in the pit of his tanks. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. Whirl was his _boss_ and Swindle was a buymech he’d just met, there was zero reason for him to feel like he’d just been found out leading a secret double life. He pushed the sensation away and shrugged, holding tightly to a forced sense of calm. “That’d be up to him. Boss, this is Swindle. Swindle, Whirl.” He gestured between them as if there was anyone else he might’ve been referring to instead.

Swindle gave Whirl a glittering smile, much more proper than anything he’d used on Swerve so far. “It's an honor to meetcha.”

Whirl offered his hand. Swindle didn't hesitate to take it. Swerve was impressed by his easy confidence. “The honor’s mine! Would ya mind if I looked ya over before ya head on yer way? I promise I won't keep ya long, but I won't be put out if yer in a rush.”

Swerve could swear he felt a flicker of fear in Swindle’s field, but when he reached out with his there was only cheerful calm. “Sure thing, I can spare a minute.” Swindle patted Swerve’s arm and stepped forward to follow Whirl into the room. He looked back at Swerve and gave him a wink. “I’ll see ya ‘round sweetspark.”

“Take care.” Swerve made the mistake of glancing up at Whirl just in time to catch him smiling. He winked and gave Swerve a thumbs up. It was the most blatantly dorky thing Swerve had ever seen, made worse by the blush he could feel creeping over his face. “I’m gonna—” he gestured back toward the unfinished dormitory where he’d left off working earlier. “I’m gonna go.”

He walked away quickly, not looking back even though the temptation to check either Swindle’s or Whirl’s reaction was strong. He could distract himself by doing something with his hands, but that didn't completely stop his mind from wandering.

He had a million questions. What were they talking about? _Were_ they talking? It could just be awkward silence, but Whirl was pretty chatty too, even if he didn't reach Swerve’s level of verbosity. Swindle seemed pretty uncomfortable talking about his own boss, and skeptical of Whirl. Should Swerve have offered to stay? It would've been awkward and disrespectful of Swindle’s ability to make his own choices. If he didn't want Whirl to examine him Whirl had given him a perfect excuse to bail. Plus there was that whole ‘patient confidentiality’ thing that real mechs had and sort of went out the window when it came to medical care in the Dead End. Offering to stay would have been weird and unnecessary but Swerve still felt like he’d left Swindle in the lurch.

“Hey.”

Swerve nearly jumped out of his plating and fell over backwards in his hurry to turn around. It wasn't his most graceful moment by far. “What—” he spotted Whirl in the doorway and let himself collapse the rest of the way, sprawling out flat on his back. “What the _frag_ , boss? I about died right there!”

“Sorry!” Whirl looked bashful. “I heard ya talkin’ an’ thought ya might not mind me checkin’ in.”

Swerve rubbed his face and sighed, trying to talk his panic-activated defense systems into cycling back down. “I don't mind.” He peeked out from between his fingers. “How’d the thing with Swindle go? You give ‘im the all clear?”

“S’much as I could. I offered to fix ‘im up, but he said he couldn't afford it.” Whirl shook his helm. He walked over and sat down on the floor next to Swerve, crossing his long, _long_ legs and leaning back on his hands. “I told ‘im all repairs’re free but he jus’ kept sayin’ he didn’t wanna take it outta his boss’ cut.”

“Yeah…his boss sounds like a real piece’a work.” He sounded like the kind of mech who would use code manipulation to keep a mech tied to his service. “Best not to push it.”

“I didn't. I _did_ start a file for him though, in case he changes his mind.” Whirl looked down at him, his expression soft.

Swerve was glad he’d exhausted his charge with Swindle so it didn't make a resurgence now that he was the center of Whirl’s attention, but his spark still fluttered. The way Whirl’s face seemed _meant_ for gentleness was absurd. Swerve stuck out his glossa at him.

Whirl laughed. “How's the work goin’? Ya need anythin’?”

“Nah, I'm good. I promise, I'd let you know if I was runnin’ low on materials.” Swerve swung a hand out and patted Whirl’s knee. “I like havin’ someone else’s credits on the line. Makes me feel like one’a them nobles.”

“Speakin’ of…”

Swerve stopped him before he could suggest payment again. “I ain’t done yet, boss. I can't go takin’ your money up front for a job that’s goin’ on this long. What if I cut an’ ran and left you with a bunch’a unbuilt berths an’ less a few hundred credits? Maybe you can afford that, but I can't have anyone playin’ you for a sucker.” Not that he would, but it would set a bad precedent. Maybe if he held firm on this, Whirl would learn from him and stop offering to prepay for things.

Whirl frowned but didn't argue. “Well if I can't pay ya what I owe ya, will ya at least take a break an’ refuel? Ya musta burned more than ya usually do by now, spendin’ time with Swindle.”

Swerve’s faceplates burned. “Not really.”

“Are ya sure?”

“Yep! I'm sure.” He sat back up. “‘Sides, I was kinda goofin’ off this afternoon, I gotta get back to work.”

“Goofin’ off? Is that what they’re callin’ it these days?” Swerve looked up sharply. Whirl was grinning. When he saw whatever aghast expression had made it onto Swerve’s face he burst out laughing.

“Boss, I am _shocked_.” He knew Whirl was on board with his sarcasm when his smile only grew. “Truly scandalized, I will have you know I'm a gentlemech.”

“ _Are_ ya now.” Whirl leaned down and dropped his voice conspiratorially. “I can't argue with that. Yer a better mech than all’a the nobles I’ve met.”

Swerve’s spark flared, warmth that had nothing to do with charge spreading through his frame. “Primus...ya can't say that kinda scrap to mechs, boss. Yer gonna go givin’ people ideas.” Frag. _Frag_. That was too much honesty. “I've already gone an’ reached above my station once, I'm not sure I'd survive doin’ it again.” That was _worse_. Why couldn't he keep himself muted? “How many nobles do you even know? I'll bet they're all huge crankshafts.” Better… “Is there a medical term for havin’ somethin’ shoved so far up your exhaust port you forget that mechs that aren’t in your function class are people? Is that diagnosable?”

Whirl seemed momentarily thrown by the sudden change in topic. Thankfully. “That’d be more psychiatry than physical medicine, it ain't my field.”

“Well _good_ , you've got enough on your schedule without addin’ ‘curin’ jerkishness’ to the list.” Swerve patted Whirl’s arm and pushed himself to his feet. “I'm glad you like me better’n the high-forged mechs you oughtta be workin’ with.” There, that was a much better response.

“I like ya better’n a lotta mechs, Swerve.”

Swerve didn't shiver, but it was a near thing. “D’you like me enough to forgive me for takin’ another break? I might hafta take you up on that offer to refuel early.”

Whirl beamed. “All’s forgiven.” He stood as well and patted the top of Swerve’s hood, his fingers lingering for just a moment. “I gotta check in on the bitties. Ya gonna stop in once yer topped off?”

“Sure thing, boss. I'll be right there.” He watched Whirl go with an underserved wistfulness. Once Whirl was gone and the door was closed behind him, Swerve cycled a full ventilation and pressed a hand to his chestplates. Primus preserve his spark, he was _fragged_.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violence and prayer

Energon had a lot of different smells. Like with taste, the input gathered by chemoreceptors in the glossa and the olfactory sensors was fed into the processor, where _something_ happened with a mech’s operating drivers to convert that material data into sensory information. Swerve wasn't sure what, exactly, but somehow raw data went in one side and ended up interpreted as _sweet_ or _salty_ or _bitter_ or any other of an infinite number of combinations of flavors and scents. He'd spent a long time figuring out what metals and minerals were linked to different tastes, and even longer figuring out how to factor an energy-rich medium like engex into the equation.

So when the smell hit him so hard he nearly gagged—oxidic and sweet with a sharp edge of rust carrying through—he knew right away what it was. Intravenous energon was usually thick with metals even when it came from someone who was starving to death. Something about circulating necessary materials throughout the frame. Swerve remembered Whirl talking about it but the specifics escaped him at the moment, standing outside a shattered wall and staring into what was undoubtedly a workshop for organ harvesting.

There were spatters and stains on the floor that were probably pink once but had dulled and rusted with time to a sickish orangey-gray. If that was all there was to see it could've been the scene of an accident, but the workbench placed in the center of the room was shiny with energon and next to it a separate table stood, presumably holding the tools of somebody's trade.

Swerve glanced back down the alleyway he'd cut through to get there. It seemed impossible that he'd just stumbled across someone's operating room, but the space between this building and the one at his back was tight. Only a minibot could have squeezed through, and Swerve had run into difficulty with fitting his tires into the narrow entryway. He'd thought the light on the other side of the hole meant it could be used as a shortcut. Whoever set up the room clearly hadn't considered the open wall a security hazard with the next building so close by.

Either that or it was a trap, in which case Swerve commended them on their convoluted setup and patience in execution, but he would rather not die today.

He was about to turn around and squeeze back the way he came when he heard a high, muffled crying sound coming from across the room. Looking again it was obvious the room was empty, but there was a heavy-looking door on the other side that led further into the building this space was a part of. The crying was coming from beyond it.

Swerve knew he should leave anyway. That noise was an omen of worse things to come. Whirl would understand that he was protecting himself by walking away without investigating, and Swindle would tell him he was being _ridiculous_ if he considered doing anything but running away and yet here he was, climbing over the crumbling foundation and pulling himself into the energon-splattered room. The crying tapered off as he approached, petering out to whimpers and sniffling. He hesitated for a moment before putting his audial to the door. It was quiet other than the miserable sounds of a single mech nearby. Swerve could knock, but any noise he made might draw attention to his presence, and if he was going to do this he might as well go all the way and do it as stealthily as possible.

He placed his hand to the door and pushed, just barely leaning his weight into it to see if it was locked. There was no handle on this side but locking a room with this kind of access to the outside world just made sense. Still, the door shifted. The noises on the other side paused and Swerve hesitated. He should cut and run. No one ever needed to know he was here. He pushed the door open a few inches instead and peered through the crack.

There was most of a mech leaning against the walls a few yards down, propped up in a pool of their own energon. Their arms were stripped of their outer plating and most of their circulatory tubing and ended in stumps at the wrists. If anything, their torso was in worse shape, flayed open and leaking slowly onto the floor. There were gaps where their substructure was visible but whatever it was supposed to be holding in place was suspiciously absent. Their legs were _gone,_  and when they turned their helm toward Swerve he could see their optical sockets were empty. They made a sick whining sound and Swerve’s gaze drifted to the not-quite-surgical incision across their neck. Their vocoder was gone too. Frankly he was surprised the poor mech was still on this side of the well. They made a weak attempt to move, hydraulic fluid spraying over the floor in a bubbling wave as broken joints tried desperately to flex.

The door slammed open the rest of the way, sending Swerve sprawling. For a split second he thought he’d leaned on it too hard.

“What’ve we got here?”

Swerve felt himself flush cold as coolant circulation skyrocketed, panic kicking his defensive systems into an emergency boot sequence. He rushed to push himself to his feet but before he got both of them back under his frame a huge hand grabbed his hood and yanked him off the ground.

He found himself face to facemask with a mech easily four times his size. “What’s a minimech like you doin’ here? Didja sneak in through a hole in the wall ya little petrorat?” They were smirking at him, he could tell.

“You know what? I did.” _Why was he talking_. “You should really get your security upgraded, you never know who’s gonna wander in ‘round these parts.”

They laughed. It was a harsh and strident, but that might've been Swerve’s fear coloring the sound. “I’d better do my job an’ take care’a that then.”

Frag frag _frag_. “Or you could let me go?” He said with a hopeful smile. It was thirty feet to the floor and the door was still standing open, if he made it to the ground he might be able to get out. “I'm not even sure where I am, I'm never gonna be able to find this place again. Who’s even gonna know? That guy?” Swerve gestured toward the poor mech on the floor. “He’s gonna be dead in ten minutes or less, he’s not gonna tell anyone, an’ neither will I!”

They snorted. That kind of noise was usually reserved for people with mouths rather than straight intakes. “I know damn well ya won’t.” They started moving away from the door. Swerve hadn't gotten a good look at the rest of the room before, but glancing around now there were empty cages lining the walls and a deactivated energon blade cast haphazardly on a shoddily assembled table on one side.

“Wait, _wait!_ ” Swerve waved his arms. “I’ve got an offer for you, I swear I can make this worth your while.”

The mech stopped and brought Swerve up to his face again, amusement evident in their field. “I’m listenin’.”

Swerve’s processor raced and for half a second he thought he might actually think of something that would get him out of this situation unharmed, but he came up blank. “Sorry, I got nothin’.” Swerve’s foot meeting the bridge of his facemask kept the mech from responding with anything intelligent.

There was a satisfying _crunch_ where Swerve’s toecap met the top edge of the mech’s mask and the metal shifted inward, presumably crushing the nasal ridge it was supposed to be protecting. “ _Fra—_ ” the curse cut off with an ungainly shriek of pain and Swerve felt the grip on his hood loosen. The instant of excitement at being released was muffled by his impact with the floor, but he could still get up and run, all he needed was the space to—

Swerve’s optics locked onto the other mech’s foot just in time to see it rapidly approaching his face.

The impact splintered across his sensor net, shock keeping pain from fully catching up with his processor. He crashed into the cages against one of the side walls, his audials ringing and his optical feed nothing but snow. He flailed out with one arm, grabbing at anything he could reach to pull himself to his feet.

“—fraggin’ _piece of slag_ mini! Gonna tear yer legs off an’ _feed ‘em to ya!_ ”

Good to know his audials were still working, even if they were late to the party. He found the bars with his fingers and fought against the slippery surface—energon, old and congealed but still terrible for keeping his grip. He was up and moving again before his optics came back from a hard boot and showed he was heading the _completely_ wrong direction. He dove out of the way of the mech’s foot and pushed off the other wall of cages, narrowly missing their legs as he scrambled for the door.

It was still standing open, his path was _clear_ —but through the uneven picture his broken visor provided he could see the mech who’d been leaning against the wall had tipped over, what was left of their arms stretched out as they tried desperately to drag what was left of their frame to freedom. Swerve felt curses spilling out of his vocoder as he dodged to the side, the seven foot detour losing him precious seconds as he knelt down and scooped the mech off the floor.

They were _painfully_ light. Their internals shifted sickeningly and they gurgled, the stumps of their arms tapping weakly against Swerve’s shoulders. “I’ve got you. _I’ve got you_.” It was five feet to the door, two feet, _zero_ , and then the other room stretched in front of him and he could feel a furious field at his back, hands grasping for him. He ran, the mech held tightly to his chest so they were jostled as little as possible. There was nothing to stop the lurching involved in launching himself off the end of the floor and slamming shoulder-first into the side of the other building. He stumbled, too afraid of losing time to look back and check if the distance was still to their advantage. Either they got caught and they were both dead or they didn’t and Swerve needed to get them _away from here_.

The debris from where the wall had fallen apart partly blocked the way and Swerve had to lever an I-beam up enough to squeeze both himself and his cargo through without causing more hurt than just dragging them through behind him.

“Come on, come _on_ , just a few more feet…”

Swerve jerked them both the rest of the way through the narrow opening, just barely scraping out of the way before a huge hand plunged through the space after them. “Get back here ya little—”

“No! Not happening!” Swerve let the I beam fall, twisting so it slid off the back of his shoulder as he popped free, stumbling and almost-falling into the street. The mech shrieked as the pile of rubble destabilized and the beam slammed down on their hand. “Frag you too!” Swerve hiked the mech’s frame up closer to his chest. The few inches of plating that were still there and still _visible_ around the crown of their helm were a dull red, so they weren’t dead yet. “Okay, easy, I’m gonna get you some help. You just gotta stay with me a few more minutes, Whirl’s the best there is.” The mech was dying. The odds of them surviving were so small Swerve couldn’t imagine it happening but that didn’t mean it wasn’t worth _trying_. “You’re not going back there, I promise.”

The frame sagged against his, ether with relief or because they’d finally, mercifully, passed out. Swerve cradled them against him and started toward the clinic. It was less than ten miles, not as far as he sometimes wandered but still too far to run on his own.

[[Whirl, I need an airlift.]]

There was no hesitation at all, as if the comm feed between them had never been closed. [[Where?]]

Swerve sent him his coordinates. [[I’m here but moving south toward the clinic, you need to meet us asap.]]

[[I’m on my way.]] _There_ was the relief he needed to keep moving. [[What’s the damage?]]

[[ _Everything_.]] Swerve saw someone darting into a different alley as he passed and wondered what kind of picture he presented. “Don’t worry buddy, help’s on the way.” When there was no response he looked down to check on that tiny patch of red, to make sure the mech was still with him. “You’re not dead yet. Not dead’s about all we can ask for, yeah? You’re hurtin’ like nothin’ else but it’s not gonna be forever.” He looked up, casting his optics to the skies and praying for Whirl to be there soon. “Think’a somethin’ good. Somethin’ worth livin’ for an’ hold onto it as much as you can.” He checked again, the red plating dull from wear and strain but still holding its color. “An’ if you can’t stay here for _it_ you’d better fuckin’ believe _it’s_ waitin’ in the Well for _you_.”

There was soft whining as something shut down in their frame and they started growing colder in his arms.

“Not yet, not _yet_ , he’s comin’ I know he is—” The sound of helicopter blades cutting through the air tickled the edge of his staticky audio feed. “Thank _Primus_.” Swerve placed a hand on the back of their helm, holding them close. “He’s coming, he’s almost here, just keep holding on for a few more minutes.”

Whirl came into view as a dark smudge in the sky and Swerve had to dig in his heels to keep from being buffeted about by the wind coming off his rotors as he landed, but Whirl popped his cockpit open as soon as he touched down. “What happened to them?”

“Organ harvesters.” Swerve climbed in without letting go of his cargo. “I don’t know how they’re not dead and I don’t know why whoever had them stopped before they were done, but they’re hangin’ on by a wire.”

Whirl’s field was all concern and fear and it blanketed them. Swerve pushed back with his own field, trying to project calm into the tiny space and surround what was left of the mech in his arms. The flight back to the clinic was tense and quiet except for Swerve whispering reassurances to the cooling frame he held. The red stayed as bright as it had since the beginning, still not fading to gray. As soon as they set down outside the clinic and Swerve climbed out his Whirl’s cockpit Whirl transformed and picked up both of them. “I need your help.”

Swerve laid the mech out on the table Whirl held him next to before setting him on the ground. “Tell me whatcha need boss, I’ll do it.”

“Grab two transfusion bags from the back storage room.” Whirl tossed him a key without looking and Swerve barely caught it, the sliver of metal bouncing off his fingers. He managed to snatch it out of the air at the last second. “Wash up an’ get back here, I need your hands.”

“Yes sir.” Swerve ran to comply. He scrubbed his hands off in the sink in the storage room—hauling himself up to kneel on the counter to reach instead of searching out the step stool that usually resided in the room—and gathered the bags Whirl had requested. Hanging on the inside of the door was a collection of transfusion kits, the kind with tubing and needles that even someone like Swerve could operate. He grabbed one of those as well, just in case.

He hurried back and ran up the little set of stairs on the opposite side of the table from where Whirl was working furiously. “Swerve, I need a transfusion kit too—”

“Got it.”

“ _Good_. Do you know how to use it?”

“I’ve done it before.” Long ago enough that he couldn’t remember who he’d been using it on. “I’ve got it, what else do you need?”

Whirl shook his helm. “Just get it going.”

Swerve set up the transfusion, hanging the bag on the hook that extended up from the corner of the table. He made the insertion to one of the only surviving lines of tubing in the mech’s neck since their arms were a lost cause, but even after double checking the flow and that there weren’t any blocks or kinks and that gravity was on their side the transfusion still wasn’t going through. “Whirl—”

“Their fuel pump is gone.” His voice was clipped and tight with anxiety. “It’s just _gone_ , how do I—” He reset his vocoder, pulling disconnected tubing out of their chest cavity and trying to do something with them and a small machine Swerve didn’t recognize. He must have pulled it out while Swerve was gone. “Most of their fan blades are gone too and so are their filters—” An arc of ammonia fluid spattered across the table. Whirl cursed. “They’re missing so much, how are they still—” Alive. Swerve knew that was the next word in line even though Whirl cut himself off and buried his hands back in the mess of cut off tubes and wiring.

He sent Swerve to grab materials and tools three times over the next hour and his field read more and more frantic every time he came back even as his hands remained perfectly steady. They were just passing an hour and a half since Swerve commed for help when the mech’s spark flickered out. The pale blue light that was steadily leaking out of the cracks in the patient’s spark chamber—dimming by degrees as life left them—vanished entirely. The scant inches of red plating that Swerve had been keeping his optics on faded to a cold, dark gray. Any quiet buzzing or humming or sickly squeaks their frame had been making stopped. Swerve stared at their frame for a few moments. Waiting. Just in case. He vented softly and stepped back, down one stair.

Whirl glanced up at him. “What are you doing?”

Swerve met his gaze blankly. “Whirl, they’re dead.”

“No. _No,_ I can still help them.” He ducked his helm back down. “Just help me.”

Swerve stared at him. He couldn’t be serious, but there he was, still working furiously on a frame that had been cold long before all light receded from it. Swerve stepped back up onto the stool and reached over the body. He caught Whirl’s wrists with his hands and held them. “Whirl. They’re gone.” Whirl pulled against his grip for a few seconds. He looked up and fixed Swerve with a glare. Swerve held firm. “They’re dead, Whirl, leave them be.”

The frustration in Whirl’s expression held tenuously for almost a full five seconds before he crumbled. His features seemed to waver for a moment before tears gathered in his optics. “They—they can’t—” His tools slipped from his fingers and clattered to the table. Swerve saw the sob bubble up inside him before it broke free of his vocoder. He sank to the floor.

Swerve let go of his wrists and jumped off the stool. He ran around the other side of the table to be closer to Whirl and tried to catch his hands again. Whirl pulled them up to cover his face instead. “Whirl—”

“I’m supposed to be able to—” He sniffed. “I’m supposed to help mechs and I can’t even—” He cut himself off with another staticky sob.

“No no, there’s no— _Whirl,_ there’s no _even_ about this.” He pulled one of Whirl’s arms away from his frame and invaded his personal space, demanding his attention. “They were already gone, you kept them here way longer than they woulda been otherwise.”

“If I’d had the parts on hand—if I’d gotten to you sooner—!”

“It wouldn’t’a made any difference.” Swerve insisted. “Their whole frame was scrapped, an’ sure, _maybe_ if you had a spare frame on hand to transfer ‘em into they woulda made it if the trauma didn’t kill ‘em first but it’d be ridiculous to expect you t’have anythin’ like that kickin’ around out here in the clinic. You did the best you could.”

Whirl was shaking. “I’m a medic. I oughtta be able to save people.”

“Whirl…” Swerve reset his vocoder twice and pushed himself into Whirl’s arms, lifting his other hand so he could hold Whirl’s face in both of his. “You’ve already done more than you needed to.”

The confused look on Whirl’s face was almost a relief. “But—what?”

“You can’t see how many mechs you save every day?” Swerve rubbed Whirl’s tears away with his thumbs but they were quickly replaced with more. “You’re a damn _saint_ helpin’ us like you do. You gave that mech half a chance to live an’ that’s _lightyears_ more’n anyone else would’ve done for ‘em. You cared an’ that’s worth more’n you know.” He sighed, feeling small under Whirl’s wide-optic’d stare. “There’s only so much you can do before the universe takes over. At least they’re somewhere better now.”

Whirl sniffed. His clattering fans slowed by degrees until they were only a loud hum. “...You believe that?”

“That you’re a fraggin’ martyr? _Yes._ ”

“No, that—that they’re in a better place.” Whirl’s uncertainty was weird and foreign. He looked at Swerve like he might actually be able to give him answers.

Swerve didn’t have any to give him, not real ones anyway. “Well there ain’t a lotta places worse’n Rodion.” Whirl’s gaze dropped and his field dipped into disappointment. Guilt flooded through Swerve. Flippant. Not the best way to comfort someone. “Yeah, I believe they’re somewhere better. I think they’re in the Well.”

Whirl looked up again. “.....Really?” He leaned his face into Swerve’s hands. “Why?”

“Why do I believe? Or why do I think they’re in the Well?” Whirl nodded. “Both?” Another nod. “I don’t know where it came from. People have always believed in things.”

He shook his helm. “Not _people_. You.”

Swerve sighed and shifted so he was sitting instead of awkwardly crouched. “I musta picked it up from whoever raised me. I remember prayin’, an’ once I got to the Academy I know mechs started in on how prayin’s useless but I kept doin’ it anyway. Even when that stopped I kept...” Swerve dropped one hand from Whirl’s face to drag it over his own. “I don’t think you can just stop believin’ in Primus. Maybe some mechs can. I haven’t been able to. It’d be easier sometimes to think we die an’ that’s it, we get to be done, but that guy? Mechs like that?” He pointed up to the medical slab. “They don’t deserve that. There’s nothin’ they coulda done to deserve dyin’ this way so there’s gotta be somethin’ else waitin’ for ‘em. Somethin’ better’n one-to-two-hundred years’a barely survivin’.”

“The Well.”

“Yeah. Which is—I dunno, maybe it’s ridiculous to believe there’s somethin’ other’n more’a the same. But I do.” He patted Whirl’s other cheek with his free hand. “You did the best you could for ‘em on this end, that’s all anyone can ask’a you.”

Whirl’s frown deepened, lines of determination ghosting around his optics. “But I want to do more. Why do they have to wait to be _dead_ before anyone shows them a little kindness?”

“They don’t, I guess.” He smiled. “Not when there’s mechs like you around.”

Whirl looked away again, this time down to where his hands rested across Swerve’s knees. Swerve bit his lip to give Whirl the time he needed to form his thoughts into words. They didn’t come in such a torrent for most mechs. “...I want to make things better for mechs _now_. Maybe make this world a little more like the next one.”

Swerve laughed. He couldn’t help it, the sound was surprised out of him. “That’s a lofty goal.”

“I know it’s not gonna happen all at once, but maybe one day.” Whirl gave him a weak smile. “A mech’s gotta aim high.”

“If anyone could do it, you could, boss.” He dropped his hands to cover Whirl’s and squeezed. Their fingers were still slippery with spilled energon and coolant. “You’re the saint outta the two’a us, that’s for sure.”

“ _I’m_ the saint?” Whirl laughed, the sound rough with static. “Swerve, I’ve never even prayed before.”

“So what? Prayin’s not the requirement for sainthood, miracles are. You’re already damn close.” He looked down at where their hands met. “...Here.” He held his hands up, palms facing Whirl. “Put your hands up like this. Palms touchin’ since your fingers are _way_ longer’n mine.”

Whirl complied. His hands dwarfed Swerve’s completely even though his were wide and thick-fingered. Their hands stuck together a little. “Like this?”

“Perfect. You’re supposed to match the words with hand-speak but I don’t know any an’ it’s harder to learn without the traditional five-finger setup.” He flexed his hands against Whirl’s to illustrate. “So we’re just gonna hold our hand together like so.”

“Are you gonna teach me a prayer?”

“Yeah. It might not help you, but at this point it’s for my sake mostly.” He nodded toward the table. “I don’t think they’ve got anyone else to do it for ‘em, an’ if they don’t want anyone prayin’ for ‘em—well, they’re not around to complain now, so we’re gonna do it anyway.”

Whirl frowned. “What if they didn’t want anyone to do this?”

“It’s not gonna hurt ‘em if they didn’t. Now just—gimme a second, lemme see if I can remember this right.” He vented softly and combed his processor for the right words. He felt like they should’ve been sufficiently buried by now, but they came easily to his vocoder. “Primus take this spark into your hands. If they fell to the shadows in this life, have mercy an’ see in them the power to change their ways as they once changed their shape.” Assuming they could change shape. If they couldn’t, well, transforming wasn’t the only way to adapt. There was a surprising amount of wiggle room there that is prayer didn’t reflect, but Swerve was on it now and didn’t trust himself to remember something different if he stopped in the middle. “Adaptus spare them from eternal pain as death spared them from the pain of this world. We trust you t’find their light an’ guide them to the home you keep for all sparks. Welcome them into the Well, where time ends an’ all points meet, an’ all are one with you to guard them.”

Whirl looked at him. Swerve could feel him staring even with his optics offline and he wondered what his first question would be. “‘All are one’?”

Not quite what he’d been expecting. “Yeah, it’s a thing. The whole...we all came outta the ground to some degree an’ eventually we’re all gonna end up in the Well.”

“Huh. I think I’ve heard something like that before.” There was another long pause. Swerve was just itching to break the silence when Whirl beat him to it. “Sorry, did I interrupt?”

“No, that’s all. It’s short. Just sorta meant as a…” he pulled one hand away from Whirl’s and waved toward the floor. “Hey Primus, just checkin’ in to make sure you get this one.” He shrugged. “Not that it matters, assumin’ Primus is omni-whatever. Present? Sure. That.”

“Oh.” Whirl’s hands shifted against his and he carefully laced their fingers together. “...I think that helped.”

“Good. I’m glad.” He tried for a reassuring smile. He probably fell short, but it was something.

Whirl smiled back. Watery and sad, but there. “I guess I should think about funeral arrangements.”

“Yeah, probably. It can wait a few more minutes though, boss, they’re not goin’ anywhere.” He gave Whirl’s hands a gentle squeeze. No one in the Dead End got a funeral, at best their frame was taken and broken down for scrap instead of being desecrated, but an honest-to-Primus funeral? Who could afford that kind of time and effort? Who even had friends to bury them when they were gone? Swerve wasn’t surprised Whirl wanted to give a nameless mech a funeral though, that was just so... _Whirl_. “You can take the time to put yourself back together, no one’s gonna hold that against you.”

“But there’s so much I still have to do.” It was a weak protest, more mumbling than speech. Whirl squeezed his hands back.

“Five minutes, boss. The world ain’t gonna end because you took time out to grieve.”

Whirl shook his helm and leaned down. He rested his forehelm on Swerve’s hood. “You’re too good for me.”

Swerve laughed, something inside him fluttering weakly beyond the layers of guilt for not being able to help more and the physical pain of his injuries. “Look who’s talkin’.”

**Author's Note:**

> The current list of tags is incomplete. More will be added as I write and post.


End file.
